


Princesspea Writes TWD Prompts

by SuperPrincessPea



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, Anal, Anal Sex, Angst, Awkward Daryl, Biker Daryl, Canon, Daddy Negan, Drabbles, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Gore, Horror, Hurt, Imagines, King Negan, M/M, Medieval Negan, Multi, Negan Smut, Negan has a daughter, Negan is a Daddy, NeganSmutWeek, Oral, Oral Sex, Other, Priest Negan, Romance, Romantic Daryl, Romantic Negan, Simon the savior smut, Smut, Tumblr Prompts, brick - Freeform, head canon, king arthur - Freeform, more tags will be added, negan/male reader, prompts, simon smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-09-02 15:25:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 33,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8672635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperPrincessPea/pseuds/SuperPrincessPea
Summary: A collection of Walking Dead prompts, drabbles and head canons.Latest Prompts:You play basketball with Negan and SimonDwight has a crushSimon returns home to meet his new baby





	1. Babysitting- Negan&Rick

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: How would Rick react if Negan held Judith

“What have we got here?” Negan picked up the baby monitor from the kitchen counter, smirking at the screen, “another one of yours Rick? How many of these fucking things do you have?”

Rick’s held his anger as tight as he was holding Negan’s bat, he could feel the frustration vibrating in every sinew of muscle and rippling over his chest in one long breath that forced through his nose like a raging bull.

“She’s crying, what kind of father are you Rick? Aren’t you gonna get her?” Negan’s smirk grew wider as he stepped close. So close that all Rick could think about was the way he had ripped out a man's throat to save Carl. 

“Oh,” Negan’s gaze dropped to the bat, “you’re holding my baby, I get it…”

Negan didn’t ask permission before he was walking up the stairs towards the sound of Judith’s cries. Rick followed close behind, his heart hammering in his chest. What kind of father was he? What was he willing to do to protect his daughter? Whatever it took was the simple answer. If he had to do it, he’d kill Negan right now, grab Judy, Carl, Michonne and leave this place. He’d risk everything for his children if he had to, but he wasn’t an idiot either.

Negan picked Judith from her crib and she didn’t even struggle, her chubby hands landed on his cheeks inspecting his face, her big eyes inquisitive and perfectly satisfied. She didn’t know any better, to her Negan was just another pair of arms there to hold her when she needed comfort. She was well accustomed to being in the arms of different people, what was one more? 

Rick didn’t like it, he didn’t want the same hands that had killed Glenn and Abraham to hold his little girl and he didn’t like the way Negan was cooing over her, his sarcastic smile beaming in mockery to Rick and the life he had here in Alexandria. “Put her down,” his voice was low, one step from being a command but still fearful enough to show respect to the maniac who was destroying his community.

“What?” Negan cocked his head to the side, “what exactly do you think I’d do to a baby? Do you think I’d hurt a baby, Rick? Is that the kind of man you think I am?”

Rick didn’t answer, yes, no, either one seemed the wrong thing to say. It wasn’t that he thought Negan would hurt Judith but he believed Negan to be a man capable of anything, just like he was. Under the right set of circumstances Rick could kill his best friend, drive an axe through the skull of a stranger, leave a traveller in need by the side of the road or rip apart flesh with his own teeth. 

“I asked you a question Rick.”

The muscles in his jaw tightened, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” Negan laughed hard and even Judith giggled, “you  _ think  _ I might hurt a baby but you let me hold yours, what does that fucking say about you Rick?”

It was all a game, a trap of words where there was never a right answer. He bit back anything he might have said and endured the silence that began to build. 

“You know there are women at the Sanctuary that would fall to the fucking knees in happiness if there was a little rugrat running around.” Negan strolled past Rick, Judith sitting comfortably on his hip. 

“What are you doing?” Rick demanded, the bat in his hand swinging in readiness. 

“Uncle Negan’s taking little… what are you calling this thing?”

“Her names Judith.”

Negan pulled a face that quickly turned back to a smile, “I’m taking little Judy for a stroll, you should be fucking thanking me Rick, childcare is fucking expensive.”

Rick considered his options, he considered taking the bat and ending things right now.

“Well…” Negan’s eyes hardened.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but you know what…” he strolled back towards Rick, “I think I’ve changed my mind.” He held Judith out, his arms outstretched, “screaming babies aren’t exactly my fucking style.”

Rick pulled Judith into his arms cuddling her tight despite the bat and inhaling a deep breath of her soft baby curls where the lemony smell of no more tears shampoo always lived.

“Maybe next time,” Negan warned, taking his bat, his own baby. “You got a good thing here Rick, you think about that.” 


	2. Cold Coffee- Negan/Lucille

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before Negan was the leader of the Saviors he was just a man losing everything.

Negan held Lucille’s hand and the machine beeped in time with her heart. It didn’t comfort him. It was just a reminder, a countdown to the moment when the beeps would stop and she would be gone. People say you never truly realise what you have until it’s gone and these past few months had been a slow crawl to realising just how true that was.

He kissed her finger where her wedding band had sat almost every day since he had put it there. She couldn’t wear it anymore. Her figure once so full of curves and warmth was now hard and frail. Her fingers that had weaved between his own countless times were now just lifeless bones in paper thin flesh.

Negan had already told her he was sorry for all the things and all the times he’d fucked up. But what was sorry if just a word? And what was a word when it came far too late? He should have lived it, he should have been the man he wanted to be instead of apologising for the one he was.

“I love you,” he whispered like he always did when the guilt burned at the back of his throat, waiting for the moment when he’d let it turn into tears. He didn’t deserve to cry, he knew it should have been him. If life was fair, if it was a system of checks and balances then it should have been him lying in that bed.

Lucille was the kind of person who would put a twenty dollar bill in the hands of a stranger in need. She was the kind of person whose smile lit up the room, that’s why he fell in love with her.

Negan could still remember the first time she’d smiled at him. It was one of those cold winter days where you can see your breath with every exhale and the tips of your ears wished you were wearing a hat. They collided into each other in the middle of the street. His coffee cup had gone flying from his hand to splash all over his shoes. He’d already been pissed, running late and having a shitting day. He’d opened his mouth to say ‘don’t you know how to watch where you’re fucking going lady’ but when his eyes had met with Lucille’s and her smile had slipped so easily across her face, he’d forgotten where he was running to. In fact he’d forgotten why his day was so shitty and blurted “let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

Now, his coffee sat cold an unsweetened in a plastic cup by her bed, he couldn’t think about eating or drinking or anything but those steady beeps.


	3. His Second Best Girl- Negan&OC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Negan has a right hand woman

Lydia knocked on the door that lead to Negan’s private room. She hated coming up here, it was like the walk of shame trundling past his half naked wives except she was fully clothed and had nothing to be ashamed about.

“Come in,” he called.

She dropped the ledgers down on his desk and cocked one eyebrow, “you know I prefer to meet downstairs, someplace where I don’t have to worry about touching something covered in bare ass and god knows what.”

Negan chuckled, “what’ve you got for me Lyds?”

She took a seat on the edge of the desk, “we sorted through the guns you brought back from Alexandria and most of the ones we lost at the outpost are accounted for.”

His face was serious, there’s nothing he didn’t like more than disobedience, “most?”

“There’s three missing. If I had to guess I’d say they were with those Hilltop fucks.”

“See, it’s shit like that that pisses me off. If they’re at Hilltop then there’s no fucking doubt that that prick Gregory has no motherfucking idea.”

“Probably,” she shrugged, “half his people hate him the other half don’t care what happens so long as they don’t have to fucking do anything. I’ll take a team, give them a little shakedown.” She smiled, “make sure they remember who they belong to.” A couple of years ago the words coming out of Lydia’s mouth would have shook her to the very core. But she was two years into the apocalypse and bearing witness to the unimaginable had slowly changed her. The Saviors were her people, everyone else was just everyone else.

Negan grinned, “that’s why you’re my second best girl! You thirsty? Let’s have ourselves a fucking drink, compliments of my new best bud Rick.”

He passed her a tumbler with a fingerful of scotch before pouring his own. It was the generic kind that slid down like toilet cleaner but each slow burning sip was just as heavenly as if it had been the triple distilled good stuff that she’d only ever tasted on Christmas or special occasions. Lydia could feel it begin to sink into her limbs almost immediately. “You think you can trust Rick?”

“You saw what I did to those fuckers.” He half laughed, knocking back his own fingerful, “you should have seen what I did to their fucking mattresses.”

“Dwight told me. You know that’s a real douchebag move right?”

Negan smiled like he knew exactly what kind of douchebag move it was. Douchebag moves were his speciality. “I’ll take that as a fucking compliment.”

“I’m just saying, someone fucks with my mattress… they wouldn’t be fucking again.”

“Oh trust me, I would most definitely fucking believe it Lyd’s, that’s why you’re in here and not in there,” he nodded to the door that led to his harem of wives. He’d offered it to her once, when she first arrived, dirty and skinny like a feral cat. She’d told him, “I’d rather slit my own throat than be some assholes fuck toy.” The next day she’d found herself moving into a bigger room and starting her job supply running with the boys.

Negan handed her the bottle of scotch, “with compliments.”

She took the bottle, it was still almost full and worth its weight in gold. Lydia was already picturing the things she could trade it for. “And the guns?”

“Take a team to Hilltop and make like they pissed on your brand new bed sheets. They wanna fuck with us, Lyd’s, we fuck with them twice as hard.”


	4. Dwight's Sandwich- Dwight/Sandwich

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwight really likes his sandwich.

“Nice Sandwich,” you say and Dwight gives you this look that makes you realise you’re disturbing him.

_ Shit _ , you’ve only been at the Sanctuary for a couple of weeks and so far you’ve managed to stay under the radar of Negan and his top lieutenants. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to split it,” you half joke as you hurry past him, dying inside and making a mental note never to comment on his sandwich again. In fact it's probably best you avoid Dwight from now on.

_ Two Days Later _

The door of the watch tower opens, you feel the chill blow in and crane your neck to see who it is since you’re not due to be relieved of watch for another couple of hours. You see the back of a blonde head and your heart skips a nervous beat as realisation almost makes you fall from the executive chair you're slouched in.

Dwight walks over to where you’re sitting and without a single word holds out his hand to present a grease proof paper parcel, carefully wrapped and deliciously heavy as he places it in your palm.

You can smell the egg and the ripe, juicy tomatoes as you unwrap the paper. Your mouth fills with saliva, anticipating your first bite and your stomach gives a embarrassing growl of appreciation that forces a small laugh from Dwight tight lips.

Your eyes flick to his, “thanks.”

He doesn’t say anything, just opens up his own paper parcel, takes a seat on the edge of the desk and tucks into his lunch.

You take a bite, it really is a nice sandwich. It might even be the best sandwich you’ve ever eaten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> It made me so happy to add a relationship tag between Dwight and his sandwich XD
> 
> If you're developing an insane fan girl Negan/Jeffrey Dean Morgan crush then follow me on tumblr @superprincesspea and I will pull you even further into the smut sanctuary.


	5. TLC- Rick/Beth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: What if Rick had escaped the prison with Beth? What if they had developed feelings for each other? What if it was her the claimers were about to rape?

Seeing those men with their filthy hands all over Beth had awoken something in Rick, something primal, wild, uncontrollable. His teeth had sank into flesh without regard and like a feral man he’d lost control to baser instinct.   
  


“Hey,” Beth’s gentle voice called him back from reliving his moment of madness. He opened his eyes to see her holding a wet cloth and a bucket of soapy water, “let me help you wash up.”  
  


Rick touched his beard where the blood still soaked wet and heavy all the way down to his skin. “Sure,” he said, forcing a hesitant smile. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Beth’s help, it was the opposite, he wanted Beth’s touch in a way he wasn’t sure was appropriate. She was half his age and devilishly pure from her hair that shone like wheat on a summer's day to the way she sang when she thought nobody was listening.   
  


He shouldn’t have wanted the soft touch of her creamy skin but you can’t control desire, sometimes he hit you like a tonne of bricks and other times it creeps up on you like a thief in the night. Since the prison had fallen and life as they knew it had ended he’d began to notice Beth, not as the girl who helped take care of Judith but as a woman with strength that sat just under the surface.  
  


Daryl had disappeared to hunt. Michonne was scavenging with Carl. So it was just the two of them in the wooded clearing that would be home for the rest of the night. This was the first time they had been alone in the endless days spent on the road and his skin was prickling with the realisation.  
  


Beth knelt by where he was sitting on the forest floor with his back against a tree, she had a thumb shaped bruise on her neck from where one of the men had grabbed her. He forced back the urge to press his lips against it, but he wanted to. He wanted to kiss her better and be kissed better. Instead he settled his hands on his thighs and became as still as the tree that held his back.   
  


She dabbed his face with the washcloth, her gaze entwining with his and he held onto it letting every ice cold touch of the cloth sooth him, every passing moment build like static electricity that hummed so loud he could hardly ignore it any longer. “Beth,” he said when the moment became too great, his fingers wrapping around her wrist that felt so delicate in his hand.  
  


“You don’t have to say it,” she smiled like she knew all along.   
  


Could she know that things had shifted? Even Rick didn’t know when it had happened. Only that when he looked at Beth now she took his breath away. “When those men touched you I-”  
  


“Don’t,” she pressed her finger to his lip, “I don’t wanna think about them, I don’t wanna think about the bad things.” She pulled a block of soap from her pocket and ran it over his beard, “I just wanna think about right now.”  
  


Her fingers scratched against his skin, electric tingles shuddered over his body and she smiled softly as she lathered the soap. He’d never been cared for like this, even with Lori he’d never had such tenderness.   
  


“Tip your head back,” she said tilting his chin.   
  


Rick gave no resistance, letting her position him so his gaze was focused on the canopy of trees and the sun that shone through to remind him they’d survived another night. He enjoyed the way the water washed the suds, cleansing him of all the horror that had settled on his face.   
  


“That’s better,” Beth dabbed his face dry with her light touches and Rick didn’t want the tenderness to end.   
  


“Thank you,” he said, his voice hoarse.   
  


“You don’t have to thank me Rick,” her palm stroked across his face and everything seemed to stand still, the birds stopped their tweets, the leaves stopped their rustling. It was as if the whole world was waiting with bated breath for him to touch his lips to hers and see if Beth felt it too. He had to know, he could have ignored it before but last night had been the final change, the last shift for him to realise she wasn’t just Beth anymore and never would be again.   
  


His thumb curled around a strand of her hair before his gaze drifted to her lips, begging permission. What if he was wrong? What if he was alone in the breathless feeling he had whenever he looked at Beth. Rick’s heart was pumping nervous energy so fast and hot that he  almost changed his mind, her curl of hair slipped from his finger. The doubt fought in competition with the need and as if she could see his turmoil she leaned forward, her nose brushed with his and she kissed him. Soft and tender, warm and loving, two pairs of lips meeting for the first uncertain time and it was like breathing air, he was alive.   
  


He pulled her closer, his hands finding purchase on the small of her waist, his lips pushing more desperately into hers. Their teeth clinked together as they found the perfect rhythm of each others kiss, her tongue dancing eagerly with his, her body pressing against his like it had always belonged there. “Beth,” he murmured as he drew her lips apart to look at the way her cheeks were flushed, her bright blue eyes dilated to almost black with desire.  
  
Rick wanted to say something to make sure this wasn’t just some fleeting moment but words were swirling around his head, out of reach and useless. Instead he pressed his lips against the bruise on her neck, inhaling the soapy smell of her skin and somewhere close a twig snapped.  The forest came back to life, the birds resumed their morning song, the leaves danced with the wind and their time alone was finished. 


	6. Nerdy Girl- Negan/You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She just wanted to hide among the paperbacks. (Negan/Reader)

“Hey you, Nerdy Girl, get your ass over here.”

You look up from your book, a thick pair or black glasses rims sliding down your nose before you push them back in place with the tip of your pinky. “Me?” You stutter over the lone word.

Negan cocks his head with an amused smile, “I don’t see any other fuckers.”

You look around, nothing but bookcases and empty chairs. Of course there’s nobody else, that’s exactly why you like it here in the Sanctuary’s makeshift library. Usually there’s nothing but you and the paperbacks. Now there’s you, the paperbacks and Negan. ‘Remember to breathe’ suddenly becomes your mantra.

You never usually look him in the eye or barely even look at him at all. Well, at least not when he’s looking your way. Certainly not when you think there’s a chance he might see you or might even speak to you. He’s looking at you now and your throat is dry, painful and it’s just as terrifying as you imagined.

‘Me’, is the only word you’ve spoken to Negan since he brought your group to the Sanctuary. Can you even say another word? Remembering to breathe is a hard enough to task on its own, speaking too, _oh god_ , you feel faint.

Negan claps the book he’s holding shut and stretches out his arm towards you, his finger pointing until it curls into a come hither. “I don’t bite… least not right away.”

You breathe out a nervous laugh as your book slips through your fingers to the table with a thud. You hardly care that you’ve lost your page or that the cover has crinkled at the corner, all you can focus on is Negan and the way his gaze his watching your every movement.

You stand abruptly causing the chair to scrape across the floor in a cringe worthy whine that makes even Negan grimace. Why are you always so awkward? Not just in front of Negan but men in general, women too. You’re sure you’ll say something stupid if you can manage to say anything at all, but no matter how much you want to run away you have no choice but to walk to where he’s waiting. He’s blocking your only escape and even if he wasn’t, a person doesn’t run away from a man like Negan. So, you smooth down the front of your shirt, pray the heat in your cheeks isn’t as red as you imagine it will be and walk around the table to stand before him.

Negan’s tall, broad, an intimidating man even if he didn’t have an army of Saviors under his command. He gives you a once over before his lips curve into a smile that makes your heart thunder so loud you’re sure he must hear it.

You look away from him, your focus settling on the row of Harlequin romances that sits at a height with his knee. You’re not sure how to act or if you should say something and you definitely can’t keep still as you shift from foot to foot, your fingers fidgeting the hem of your shirt, your palms growing clammier with every passing second.

You’re a heartbeat from attempting to excuse yourself when suddenly he’s reaching for you and all you can do is freeze as his fingers brush against your nose pulling away the weight of your glasses. Your world becomes momentarily fuzzy as your eyes adjust to see his smile even wider than before. You realise he’s waiting for you to react but you can’t possibly.

Negan clears his throat, placing your glasses on the end of his own nose before flicking open his book and glancing over the first page. “Fucking perfect… you won’t mind if I borrow these will you sweetheart?” It’s less of a question and more of an instruction.

You pinch your nose, wiping away the imprint where the glasses had sat. You’d never have enough points to afford another pair of reading glasses. The prospect of not being able to read your books gives you the courage to form half a protest, “but…”

“You don’t wanna share with me Nerdy Girl?” He steps even closer to you, his voice is so deep, so husky, “sharing is fucking caring.”

You glance his way, you’re almost sure he winks before your looking back at you fingers. “Aren’t there some… in the uh…” you clear your throat, “commissary?”

His index finger settles under your chin, tilting your chin so you’re forced to look at him. He’s smiling as he brushes the glasses off his nose to sit on his head, “not like these. Now I can borrow your glasses, or I can borrow _you_?”

You feel the blood drain from your face, “me?”

“You know for a woman who spends her day with her nose in a book you sure don’t know a lot of fucking words,” he chuckles and you can feel your cheeks filling back up with red. “You can be my own personal book worm Nerdy Girl, in fact after the fucking day I’ve had I think that might be a better idea.”

“Read… to… you?”

“You can fucking read can’t you? Or do you just hide down here looking at pictures?”

“I can read,” you choke out.

“Fanfuckingtastic, you read to me and I’ll do something for you…” his eyes are dark as he takes your glasses from his head and tucks them into the breast pocket of your shirt.

“Like what?” you say.

“I dunno…” a slow smiled spreads across his face, “be creative Nerdy Girl…”

He turns, long legs taking several long strides before he stops, his face turning so he’s in perfect profile, “your new jobs starting right now sweetheart.”

You follow on unsteady legs as he leads you through the Sanctuary and all the way into his room, shutting the door to seal you both in. Alone.

You don’t know where to look, where to stand, what to touch or what to do. You’re in Negan’s private quarters and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this place. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about Negan. That’s the thing about Negan. No matter how terrifying or intimidating you find him, it hasn’t stopped him paying visit to your wildest dreams. The sort of dreams that have you waking up tangled in the sheets and panting for air.

You watch his leather jacket sliding from his arms before he falls onto the bed with the contented groan of a man who’s been on his feet all day. He bends one arm behind his head, the other unbuttons his shirt. His thumb easing each button from its hole in a hypnotic rhythm that has you biting your lip so hard you taste blood. You lick the metal tang from your lips and meet his eye to see him watching you.

“Take a seat,” he smiles, “make yourself comfortable…”

You look left, then right, there are no seats. Just the bed.  Oh god, nerves bubble in the pit of your stomach as you realise he means sit on the bed. With him. You do it in a daze, a shaky hand reaching for you glasses to pull them into place as you whisper, “I need the book.”

“Oh yeah,” he laughs, “I almost fucking forgot.”

His finger brushes yours as he hands you the book and you suck in a sharp breath. “So, have you thought about it,” he says.

You’re mind plays flashback to your dreams and you swallow hard.

“Earth to Nerdy Girl,” Negan teases, pulling your attention back to him and the navy blue sheets that cover his bed.

“Huh?”

“Have you thought about what you want?”

“I want…” you turn the book over in your hands, your heart is pounding in your ears, heat is flooding your body in the way that makes you nauseous. “I uh…” you drag your glasses off your nose and drop them on the bed. He can have them, better to never read again than to combust into hot, nervous pile of mess on his Egyptian cotton sheets. “I already have a job.”

You stand to leave, ignoring the way he’s looking at you and praying that he won’t try to stop your escape as you stumble over each footstep, fleeing with the chill of pursuit tingling along your spine. When you finally stop to look over your shoulder there’s nothing but an empty hall and the hurried sound of your own heart beating yet that doesn’t stop the nerves churning your stomach. You know you can’t run from Negan, it’s only a matter of time before he catches up.


	7. Daddy's Girl- Negan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash 2K writing challenge.
> 
> Negan is a single Dad, AU.

The phone rang out. Negan could have almost slept through it, if it wasn’t for the bony elbow that wedged in his rib cage to the tune of a loud grunt. He rolled over, peeling himself away from the hot water bottle that had kept him snug for half the night.

“Yeah,” he answered slapping the phone to his face, his voice groggy and parts of him still asleep.

“You still in bed you lazy sonofabitch?” his boss’ voice was half stab in the gut and half irritatingly loud as fuck.

Negan’s eyes flicked to the clock sitting on the night stand; ‘10:02’. It was late but he’d been kept up half the night by a cute little brunette. He looked at his daughter, bad dreams and the bogeyman had resulted in a middle of the night marathon reading of every story on her bookshelf followed by Cinderella on DVD. He was starting to dream in pumpkins and glass slippers he’d fallen asleep to that movie so many times. “What do you want?”

“Mackenzie rang in sick and you said to call you if I had any shifts going spare.”

Negan’s gaze swept to Lucy who had curled into a tight ball of fluffy pink pyjamas and an oversized stuffed rabbit. Shit, today was supposed to be their day. “I uh-”

“Can you do it or not? I haven’t got all damn day sunshine.”

He needed the money. He also needed a sitter. He pressed his thumb to his temple, already feeling a tension headache starting to form, “yeah man, I’ll be there.”

Negan rolled out of bed with a sigh, leaving the pint sized pain in the ass sleeping. He splashed some water on his face, scratching at the beard he swore he’d shave today. It could wait. He ignored the bags that sat like two bulging suitcases under his eyes and flicked through the contact list on his phone.

The usual sitter was Doris, the baby mad old lady who lived a few blocks over. His call went straight to answerphone and a message that she was staying with her ‘wonderful’ son for the holidays. Or as Negan liked to think of him, ‘the jumped up prick who lived halfway across the country and only saw his mom once a year’. He liked Doris, she baked cookies and reminded him that there were still decent people in the world. The kid adored her too and Lucy didn’t like many people.

He brushed his teeth while rifling through his washing pile and pulling out a pair of trousers that were only half crumpled. Then he tried a couple more sitters as he finished getting dressed. Rita was busy and Jane was a flat out no, reminding him that last time she’d watched Lucy the kid had cut off all her youngest's daughter's hair with a pair of garden sheers. She was a handful or as Doris liked to say, ‘spirited’.

He stumbled over some stray pony dolls but managed to avoid stepping on the dreaded lego bricks as he headed into Lucy’s room to grab her a pair of jeans and a tee. By the time he returned to his own bedroom she was jumping on the bed, her grin as wild as her curly hair. “Are we goin’’ on an adventure Daddy?”

Negan flung open the threadbare curtains that were already letting in 99% of the morning sun and his heart sank to the bottom of the feet as he plastered on his smile, “I gotta go to work baby.”

Lucy pouted, crashing onto the bed with a melodramatic wail while he scrolled to the end of his contact list. Since the usual suspects were unavailable, that really only left one option if he wanted to have enough money this month to make more than just rent and bills. He wanted the extra money to treat the kid to the bike she’d been eyeing up for her birthday that was right around the corner.

Negan groaned, part time coaching at the school, part time working at the car lot and he still had to pick up extra shifts at his shitty warehouse job. He hated asking any fuckers for favours and the ones who would actually do them were getting thin on the ground as the years plodded on and he was no longer ‘recently’ widowed. As if the passage of time made it any easier to be a single dad. Lucy was flailing about like a banshee and Negan scrolled back up his contact list with a resigned sigh.

Thirty five minutes later he opened the door to see Simon with his hands poised for knocking. “You’re late,” Negan barked, having spent the past thirty of them watching the street and wondering why the five minute journey was taking so long while mentally squaring away his own slow arrival to his dick head boss.

“Yeah,” Simon laughed, “I got stuck in some sweet little pussy I picked up last night.”

Negan clamped his hands over Lucy’s ears right about the same time she squealed, “you got a kitty?”

“Yeah kid, her names Ramona, Spanish cat, real nice…” he curved his hands to follow an invisible hourglass, “fur.”

Lucy jumped up and down, “can I see?”

“Nah kid,” Simon ruffled Lucy’s unruly curls, “gave her to the pound this morning.”

“Right! Simon will give you breakfast and no more talking about cats,” he gave Simon his best death stare, the one he’d been perfecting for when the boys started coming round and he’d have to scare the everloving crap out of them with a single look.

“I gotta go kiddo.”

Lucy pouted so he scooped her up, planting a sloppy kiss or five all over her face until she was giggling and begging him to stop. He hated this part and waited until she was at least mildly accepting of him going to work before actually walking out the door and leaving behind his reason to go to work in the first place.

By the time Negan returned home it was after seven and he was exhausted. His throat was hoarse, his back ached and all he wanted to do was put his feet up and be spoon fed something easy like mash potatoes. Not that mash potatoes and being looked after was an option, but a man could dream.

Lucy bounded for the door the second she heard his key in the lock. “Daaaddddeeee,” she squealed like she hadn’t seen him for a hundred years. He grinned, scooping her up, closing his eyes and enjoyed the weight of her little body in his arms.

“Where’s Simon?” he asked eventually.

“He’s sleeping,” she said, deadpan, like it was completely normal for her sitter to spend the day unconscious. Negan tried to control his temper as he tiptoed behind Lucy to the fort that had been built out of sofa cushions, old sheets and the dining chairs. Simon was snoring amongst the stuffed animals, his face painted like a princess that had been on a three day bender. Mascara running, bright pink cheeks and smeared purple lipstick matted in his moustache.

“How long's he been out?”

“I dunno, he said his kitty wouldn’t let him sleep,” she shrugged before skipping off to the living room where ‘My Little Pony’ was on blast.

Negan waited until little ears were out of range before giving Simon one swift boot in the shin.

Simon sprang from the fort and his mountain of teddies with his fist at the ready to fight but Negan shoved him back into the makeshift bed. “Great job looking after my kid.”

“What?” Simon shrugged, “figured it was naptime. That’s a kid thing, right?”

“Yeah for them, numbnuts, not you.” He’d known Simon for years and he was as loyal as he was stupid but at least his shoddy childcare services came at the cost of a six pack rather than an hourly rate.

Lucy came running over with the standard, “can we order pizza?” request. Tonight, with the way Negan was feeling, the answer was a resounding yes. Plain margarita and no disgusting, or rather “sgusting”, toppings as Lucy said.

When dinner was eaten and Simon was off trying to chase more tail Negan helped Lucy into a bubble bath, leaving the bathroom door open and telling her to sing while he tried to tidy up the day's mess. He got as far as piling the dishes next to the sink and putting the sofa cushions back on the sofa before he was falling onto it and resting his body. He closed his eyes just as she began to shout, “I wanna get out now!”

Negan rolled off the sofa, his limbs leaden, as he dragged himself to the bathroom, grabbing up the fluffy pink towel which was Lucy’s favouite and scooping her out of the bath. As he helped her into her pajamas he noticed a rash, red and bumpy. It was covering her thighs, parts of her chest, her arms, patches all over as he frantically searched her body.

He tried to be calm but his mind flashed to Lucille and his heart sank remembering every detail of how it felt to lose her. He didn’t think, he didn’t ask questions, he pulled on her pajamas and before Lucy could ask what was happening she was strapped in her carseat and they were halfway to the emergency room. His body racing, convincing himself that he needed to get there and get her seen by a professional as quickly as possible.

He carried her clutched to his chest from the parking lot all the way to the front desk where the receptionist sat on the phone, holding one perfectly manicured finger out to him to give her one minute. Negan shifted from foot to foot in irritation. Each passing moment felt like a lifetime as he pulled up the leg of Lucy’s pajamas to see the rash spreading in ugly rings all over her baby soft skin.

“Could I get some fucking service here!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the desk. The receptionist’s eyes went wide and she stuttered on her phonecall while Lucy’s hands bunched into his shirt.

He took a breath, stroking his hand through Lucy’s curls and feeling like an asshole as he mumbled “sorry.” He was a foul tempered potty mouth when he had a mind to be, always had been, but he tried not to do it in front of the kid. Lucille would have hated that.

“Excuse me,” a woman waved her hand in front of his face, as she handed a clipboard to the receptionist, “I couldn’t help but notice the rash on your little girls leg.”

“I’m gonna be a raspberry,” Lucy exclaimed, unfazed and not nearly as alarmed as her Daddy.

The woman laughed, hitching her holdall onto her shoulder and almost losing the sneakers that were strung across the strap. She caught them before they hit the floor and her blue eyes flicked to his, “it looks to me like a pretty mild allergic reaction, probably not something you wanna wait hours to be told.”

“Look lady,” his eyes travelled to the thick winter boots then to the sky blue bobble hat that matched her eyes and covered her blonde hair, “that’s real nice sweetheart but I’d rather speak to a professional.”

“I am a professional,” she removed her bobble hat, her hair falling in long blonde waves that had him almost forgetting why he was here.

He shifted Lucy on his hip, “I’m talking about a Doctor, not some self diagnosis webmd wannabe.”

She folded her arms over her chest, “I am a Doctor, paediatrics, should I email you my credentials? I didn’t realise I needed a formal interview to diagnose a simple case of hives.”

She was a doctor, she was gorgeous and she was young. Jesus, maybe he was just old and a million years out of the game. “Hives?”

“I can double check for you if you like. It would save you a long wait,” she smiled at the grateful looking receptionist and he suspected ‘Doctor friendly as fuck’ was probably saving her colleague from the asshat who was shouting and slamming his fists like a fucking lunatic rather than doing him a favour.

She gestured to the plastic seats that were away from the rest of the patients and he sat down with Lucy on his knee as the Doc kneeled before them.

“My names Debbie,” she introduced herself to Lucy who immediately hiked up her pajama top to show off her red patches like a badge of honor.

“I’m Lucy!”

Doctor Debbie looked the patches over with a smirk that made Negan feel like an idiot. “Does she have any allergies?”

“No,” he at least knew that.

“And what have you eaten today Lucy?”

“We had pizza for dinner and for breakfast I had…” her face scrunched up as she racked her brain before she remembered and exclaimed, “leftover noodles and Cheetos!”

“The breakfast of champions,” Doctor Friendly gave him a pointed look.

“Simon let you have that? That fu-, funny man,” he made a mental note to give Simon a hit upside his fool head. Not so much for feeding the kid leftover Chinese but for doing it on the day that made him look like a useless asshole.

“Well, like I said before it looks like hives, you can pick up a bottle of off the counter medicine for a few dollars at the drug store. Just follow the instructions for a couple of days and keep an eye her.”

“So what caused it Doc?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes your body can have a random reaction and then never have it again to the same thing.

“Oh yeah?” Negan chuckled, all his fears melting away, “real scientific explanation there doc.”

“I’m off the clock. You want more scientific then pick up a book or go to medical school. But I might suggest not starting the day with Cheetos,” she winked, her voice light despite the gentle scolding.

“You have kids doc?” as Negan said the words his gazes spied her empty ring finger.

Doctor Debbie ran her hand through her hair and he detected the slightest hint of blush fill her cheeks, “no.” She avoided his gaze as she stood up, holding out her hand to give Lucy’s a formal handshake and a “nice to meet you.”

Lucy laughed and with one last smile directed at the kid, she began to stroll out of the automatic doors, into the winter night.

“She’s pretty,” Lucy whispered.

“Yeah,” he couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a conversation with a woman that reminded him he was a man. His last ‘girlfriend’ had walked out over a year ago when she’d realised she was more full time nanny that full time girlfriend. He was usually too tired to care, he was too tired right now but there was something about Doctor Debbie’s shiny blonde hair and sky blue eyes that was giving him a burst of energy from an unnamed source.

He began to sit Lucy on his shoulders in one well practised motion before she started to squirm, “look Daddy.”

His eyes followed the end of her finger to see Doctor Debbie’s sneakers had fallen from her bag into a neat pile on the floor.

Lucy jumped from his arms to pick them up, her smile wide and her eyes bright like only a child's could be as she said, “like Cinderella.”

With Lucy on his shoulders and Debbie’s sneakers under one arm he chased the Doc across the parking lot and halfway down the street while a little voice called “Debbie! Debbie.”

Doctor Friendly turned around, her face confused before she noticed the sneakers clutched in his hand. “Thanks,” she smiled as he handed them over.

“You’re walking home in this weather Doc?”

“I...” she looked over her shoulder to the gloomy street, “yes.”

“We can take you home,” Lucy piped up like a well trained dog.

Debbie looked almost as tired as Negan was feeling and the phrase ‘double shift’ sprang to mind as her eyes darted from himself to Lucy then to the snow that was sludge on the ground and the snow that was starting to fall in wet slushy flakes. She smiled, unsure.

“It's the least we could do,” he held out his hand just as Debbie had held hers to Lucy and she took it. Her palm soft and warm despite the bite of cold, “I’m… Negan,” he remembered, clearing his throat and trying to get a damn grip on the situation.

They held hands in the street for longer than a handshake until she said, “sure, why not?”

Negan held his grin, keeping it cool. He might not have had a pumpkin, but he did have heated seats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Please leave Kudos if you're enjoying my oneshots.


	8. Uncorked- Simon/You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You gradually fall for Simon
> 
> Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, NSFW

When you’d arrived at the Sanctuary, near starved and desperate for the safety, Simon had been one of the first people you’d met. Even covered in more than a week's worth of grime, hair slicked back and clothes riddled with what felt like more holes than fabric, he’d still find cause to make a pass at you. 

At first you’d thought it must be a wind up, a cruel joke to make you look stupid in front of the others but then he’d waggled his eyebrows and the grin that slotted between his moustache had been nothing but genuine. Road weary and still grieving the loss of your husband you’d given him a flat “no, thank you,” that had only made him chuckle before he shook away the word like water off a duck’s back.

That was six months ago.

The knock on your bedroom door was like clockwork. You sprang from your bed, answering in an enthusiastic swing of the door to see Simon holding a bottle of wine, two glasses and a brown paper package hooked under his arm. His smile was fixed like it almost always was, “Bordeaux, M’Lady.”

That's when you knew he’d been to The Kingdom. You laughed, the sound of it encouraging him to dip his head in a bow, complete with a flourish of his hand. Ezekiel had a way of turning Simon into his best attempt at a valiant knight.

“You’re such a goofball,” you told him like you always did when a moment walked the wrong side of romantic or he made you giggle and forget there were roamers right outside the walls. Maybe in a way he was a valiant knight or at least as close to one as you could imagine. Regardless, he always brought you something back from a run. At first it had made you uncomfortable but now you looked forward to your evenings together when they came knocking. Which they frequently did.

“Do come in Sir Goofball,” you gesture with an over the top flourish of your own hand.

Simon steps past you, sniggering to himself as he places the wine glasses on the nightstand, the brown paper package on the bed and grabs the corkscrew that's peeking out of his back pocket. Not that you were looking at his ass, or maybe you were. You watch the muscles in his arms flex as he twists the cork with a satisfying pop and a big grin.

He pours you both a very full glass telling you, “we’ll let em breath while you open your gift,” as he flops down on the bed without bothering to remove his boots or seeking any sort of permission.

You bite back a smile. He’s so at ease here with you and as he passes you the parcel, your fingers almost touching, you realise two things. One, you wanted Simon to touch you, even if it was just the slightest graze of a fingertip. Two, you’re at ease with him too. In fact you’re the most at ease you’ve been since the last time he was knocking on your door. At ease, yet somehow fully aware, like you can pick up every glance his chocolate brown eyes cast your way and every change in the rhythm of his breathing.

“Well aren’t you gonna open it?” Simon laughs with a confused look that's probably a reaction to the blank stare you’ve been giving him with while your mind wandered.

Your face immediately floods with warmth and you quickly look down to the package in the hopes he doesn’t notice. The paper crinkles as you turn it over in your hands before carefully tearing along where the edge has been sealed with a length of red electrical tape. “You should stop wrapping things in the greaseproof paper, it's such a waste.”

“Then how would I surprise you?”

You’d said this before, or versions of it, several times, “you know you don’t have to bring me anything.”

“A beautiful woman deserves beautiful things.”

You snort, “how many times have you used that line?”

Simon doesn’t reply and your gaze shifts to his, finding his smile is still there but his eyes more serious as he tells you, “once.”

The way he says it makes your heart skip a beat and forgot all the reasons why you’ve been holding him back. Every advance he’s made has been to the tune of no, every one except for friendship. Not that you would call Simon your closest friend here, because no matter how much you want him to remain strictly friendly you’re always different with him and being with him always feels different.

You pull the present from its wrapping, your fingers wrapping around the canvas of what you can already tell is a piece of art.

“Reminded me of you,” Simon says as you take in the nude oil painting. It's dark and sensual, painted with reds and blacks, a woman’s body in silhouette.

“It's beautiful,” you smile. The walls of your room are almost filled with all kinds of paintings and sketches since you’d told him you used to work in a gallery.

He rolls off the bed to find the mini hammer and set of nails he’s left in your room since the last time he brought you a painting and tacks up your newest edition with the others. Then you stand side by side admiring the painting, or at least that's what you're supposed to be doing, except all you can really think about is how his arm is almost pressed against yours and the way his skin smells like a fresh spritz of cologne. You breathe it in deep and wonder if he sprayed it just for you. 

When he walks to pick up his glass of wine you feel the loss of his body next to yours. You tell him, “we should probably let it breath for another 25 minutes…” you clear your throat, “at least.”

“At least,” Simon repeats your words as his gaze turns towards you, slowly travelling along your body, his adam's apple bobbing in one hard swallow.

There's silence that builds, a vast chasm filled with a hundred unspoken things and suddenly you're moving. It isn’t far to walk across your tiny room, pulled to Simon by an urge that has become irresistible. You don’t stop until his arms aren’t just touching yours but all the way around you, his hands buried in your hair where they belong.

You stand on the tips of your toes to kiss him and he dips his head to close the gap his height creates. His mustache tickles your lip, Simon’s kiss is slow and deliberate, like you’re last bites of his favourite dessert and he’s savouring every taste before licking the spoon.

“You’re sure?” he mumbles when you're both breathless.

You’re answer is a soft closed mouth kiss. You weren’t ready six months ago when the loss of your husband was as fresh as an open wound, but you’d be a fool to deny you weren't ready now. A fool to deny that the last six months with Simon hadn’t been exactly what had healed that wound to a faded scar.

Your fingers slip to the buttons of his shirt, your fumbled efforts only interrupted by the scoop of your tee as it flies over your head to land on the floor. When you’re finally sliding his shirt from his skin you pause, your eyes travelling over the hard planes of his torso.

“Not what you were expecting?” Simon teases.

For a moment you wonder if you might actually drool from your mouth which is draped open in surprise while a flood of warmth soaks your panties. “Simon,” you gasp, it wasn’t that you thought Simon was unfit, you could tell he was from the way the muscle flexed in his forearms but you weren’t prepared for the six pack that made you wish you think of a cool beer on a hot day.

When you look at Simon he’s grinning and you wonder why on earth he’s waited six months for you when he could probably have any woman in the Sanctuary and why he didn’t use the majesty of his body to bait you sooner. A woman could lose all sense with one glance. You brush your hands through the hairs on his chest, your breathing deepening as you explore his body until your teasing open his belt, eager to see the rest.

Before you get a peek at what's in his boxers, he’s unhooking your bra and any insecurity you might have felt is lost as his tongue flicks your nipple before sucking it with just enough pressure to have you moaning his name. He pushes you onto the bed, his hands running along your jeans to peel them off before he hooks his fingers in your panties and slides them off with an animalistic grunt that has your throat going dry.

He looks at your body, almost mesmerized, “you’ve made me wait a long time.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how,” you taunt, watching his eyes narrow in determination.

“Oh I haven’t forgotten how,” he picks up your leg, his gaze eating up your naked body as his lips press against the arch of your foot, “but it's definitely gonna take longer than twenty five minutes.”

With his promise Simon lets your leg slide from his grasp and his hands run along the outside of your thighs until he’s kissing your stomach, the tickle of his lips and moustache making you inhale a sharp breath that has him chuckling.

“Kiss me” you demand, desperate to feel his lips against yours once more. Simon does as he's told. The weight of his body on yours as his tongue sinks into your mouth is both comforting and insanely erotic. It’s been so long since you’ve had a man this close and just having his body pressed between your legs is sending your body into overdrive.

He slides onto his side, taking you with him, his kisses never stopping. When his fingers begin to explore along your body you let your legs fall open in silent invitation which he wastes no time in accepting. His long fingers stroke along your folds, teasing you before he sinks them inside, two at once stretching you open in pleasured pain. You groan into his mouth, his lips move to your neck becoming long sucks mixed with the soft wet kisses that encourage you to make as much noise as you please.

Simon curls his fingers inside you as his thumb brushes your clit. It isn’t long until you’re crying out “don’t stop” between ragged breaths, your back arched, your hands clasped in the pillow by your head. You try to hold out as long as possible but you can’t hold onto the feeling any longer. He keeps an unrelenting rhythm until your climax rolls across your body in powerful waves, your pussy tightening around his fingers, taking every last caress of pleasure until you sink into the mattress.

As you enjoy the aftershocks Simon nuzzles his face into your shoulder, his fingers making light patient circles on your stomach while what's still contained in his boxers nudges at your thigh, reminding you this isn’t over yet.

You pull Simon closer to you, your eyes locking with the espresso brown of his. You kiss him slowly, your kisses laced with something more than need. “I want you,” you admit you want to be connected with him, at this moment you feel like you couldn’t get close enough.

“You have no idea,” his voice is hoarse as he kicks his boxers away before kissing your nipples, making sure your body is back to desperation. When he kneels between your legs you can finally see the entire length of him as you watch his hand brushing along his cock, pumping it with a grin that tells you he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

‘The equipment matches the body’ seconded only by ‘no wonder he’s always smiling’.

He leans down to kiss you again, the tip of his cock begging for entry as it pushes against you. Arousal soaks your body, anticipatory tingles deep inside where you're desperate to have the feeling of fullness that only a man can provide. You angle your hips, encouraging him to take what you both want but he only teases, grinding against you with the lightest push as his hand rakes across your body to squeeze your ass.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted you,” he breathes heavily into your ear before lightly nipping your lobe.

Your heart swells but you don’t say anything, you’re eyes lock with Simon’s as he sinks into you, his body connecting with yours in one long torturously slow thrust before he pauses, letting your body adjust to the fullness. His breathing is laboured, his body trembling.

You slide your hands along his back, encouraging him to move and relishing every thrust when he does. He grinds against you in delicious rhythm, pulling out then sinking deep, his rough hands exploring your soft skin, his moustached lips peppering you with kisses as he makes love to you like it's his only chance, relishing every moment and stretching the pleasure until as your body begins to build again, climbing another orgasm in an easy pace until you’re teetering on the edge.

“Yes, yes,” you gasp, your hands guiding his rhythm a little faster as he takes you right over that edge. Your second orgasm sends you spiraling, your fingernails dig into his back as his name calls loudly from your lips with each powerful wave.

Simon groans, the sound of your release makes him lose all control as his steady pace becomes erratic hard slams that has his own release shooting inside you, filling you with wet heat.

Your heavy breaths mingle together as his weight settles on top of you, his hard cock slowly softening inside until he slips it out and rolls onto his side, pulling you into the crook of your arm. “Fuckin’ hell,” he mumbles and your heavy, sated body would happily agree.

When Simon had first made a pass at you, you couldn’t have imagined anything more than a quick fuck as he pushed you over a chair but months of talking and trying to be friends had turned this into something else.

He kisses the top of your head before pulling you tight, his leg hooking over yours so your entire body is embraced by his. He isn’t saying it but the way he’s holding you is telling you that you’re his now. You slide your hand through the hair on his chest and realise that you want to be his, you want to sleep like this every night. All wrapped up in Simon. You didn’t even remember to drink the wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :) Don't forget to leave Kudos/Comments if you're enjoying my promps!


	9. Cold Remedy- Negan/You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’re full of a cold and Negan has the remedy.

You flop onto your bed face first. The soft cotton of the pillowcase is cool and soothing against your skin but already you can hardly breath. You roll over with a groan. You’re nose is blocked with a thick glob of mucus that’s made a home in some unreachable space between the back of your throat and your brain. You can’t blow it out or cough it away and all you want to do is slice off your head and scoop it all out with a spoon. Of course, that isn’t really an option. So you just lie there, resigned, miserable.

The door opens and you don’t even have the strength to look, you’re just going to close your eyes and fade to sleep but there’s whistling and you recognise the tune. Negan. You watch him happily whistling away as he unscrews a flask and pours the contents into a bowl that hadn’t been here when you returned to your room.

From nowhere a sneeze tickles your nose as quickly as it blows out in a very loud “atchoo!”

The sound startles him, he even jumps the tiniest little bit and you hold onto that memory for a time when you have the strength to really laugh. “You look like shit,” he decides as he holds out a tissue pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

Great. That’s just what you want him to say. This is just how you want him to see you. You snatch the tissue and wipe your nose, sneezing into it again for good measure and confirming his diagnosis, “I feel like shit.”

Negan chuckles, picking up the bowl and easing a spoon from his pocket, “I brought you soup.”

You may be sick but you’re pretty certain you’re not so sick that you’ve begun to hallucinate. You press the back of your hand against your forehead, a little hot, not feverish. The great leader of the Sanctuary really has brought you soup, you stare at the bowl in disbelief before catching the frown on his face.

“It’s customary to say thank you when somebody risks the fucking lurgy to feed you chicken soup.”

“Err… thanks.”

“You’re very welcome.” He sets the bowl on your nightstand and helps you sit up, even fluffing your pillows behind your back before he takes a seat on the edge of the bed, the side of his hip pressing into yours. You’re still dazed at the situation and keep waiting for the other shoe to drop yet can’t for the life of you think of a single reason why he would be doing this.

He stirs the soup and with a smile holds a spoonful in front of your face, “open wide.” It sounds like the kind of thing he’s said plenty of times before and from the way he’s smirking you can tell his mind is in the trashcan right next to yours.

“I can feed myself,” you half protest between mouthfuls.

“But isn’t this nicer? Besides, I’m gonna need someone to take care of me if I ever get sick or… other things and after this you’re gonna owe me one sweetheart.”

Being indebted to Negan isn’t the worse thing even if you do imagine he will be the biggest, moaniest man child alive if he ever caught a serious case of man flu. But then ‘other things’, what kind of things?

You finish your soup and he tucks you into bed, the blankets straight jacket tight and comforting. It also doesn’t hurt that you enjoyed every second and every brush of his hands as he made sure you were so snug you can barely move.

“Good girl,” he pats your head with a wink, “sleep it off and in the morning I might even bring you some breakfast, how’d you like that?”

“I like it,” you blurt.

“Fanfuckingtastic,” he walks to the door and hovers at it, “then that’ll be two favours you owe me.”

When he leaves the room, you might still be sick but you’re definitely not miserable. In fact you can’t stop wondering why the hell Negan, the big bad fearless leader, really decided to come into your room and feed you chicken soup. It’s almost as if he cared about you, hell he must do if he was willing to face the situation that was collecting in the back of your nose and sneezing out at every opportunity. Yes, you’re definitely not miserable anymore, in fact you might even float off the bed since you’re filled from head to toe with butterflies. Maybe that’s why Negan tucked you in so tight, he was the kind of man who knew exactly what effect he had on women.

You flop onto your bed face first. The soft cotton of the pillowcase is cool and soothing against your skin but already you can hardly breath. You roll over with a groan. You’re nose is blocked with a thick glob of mucus that’s made a home in some unreachable space between the back of your throat and your brain. You can’t blow it out or cough it away and all you want to do is slice off your head and scoop it all out with a spoon. Of course, that isn’t really an option. So you just lie there, resigned, miserable.

The door opens and you don’t even have the strength to look, you’re just going to close your eyes and fade to sleep but there’s whistling and you recognise the tune. Negan. You watch him happily whistling away as he unscrews a flask and pours the contents into a bowl that hadn’t been here when you returned to your room.

From nowhere a sneeze tickles your nose as quickly as it blows out in a very loud “atchoo!”

The sound startles him, he even jumps the tiniest little bit and you hold onto that memory for a time when you have the strength to really laugh. “You look like shit,” he decides as he holds out a tissue pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

Great. That’s just what you want him to say. This is just how you want him to see you. You snatch the tissue and wipe your nose, sneezing into it again for good measure and confirming his diagnosis, “I feel like shit.”

Negan chuckles, picking up the bowl and easing a spoon from his pocket, “I brought you soup.”

You may be sick but you’re pretty certain you’re not so sick that you’ve begun to hallucinate. You press the back of your hand against your forehead, a little hot, not feverish. The great leader of the Sanctuary really has brought you soup, you stare at the bowl in disbelief before catching the frown on his face.

“It’s customary to say thank you when somebody risks the fucking lurgy to feed you chicken soup.”

“Err… thanks.”

“You’re very welcome.” He sets the bowl on your nightstand and helps you sit up, even fluffing your pillows behind your back before he takes a seat on the edge of the bed, the side of his hip pressing into yours. You’re still dazed at the situation and keep waiting for the other shoe to drop yet can’t for the life of you think of a single reason why he would be doing this.

He stirs the soup and with a smile holds a spoonful in front of your face, “open wide.” It sounds like the kind of thing he’s said plenty of times before and from the way he’s smirking you can tell his mind is in the trashcan right next to yours.

“I can feed myself,” you half protest between mouthfuls.

“But isn’t this nicer? Besides, I’m gonna need someone to take care of me if I ever get sick or… other things and after this you’re gonna owe me one sweetheart.”

Being indebted to Negan isn’t the worse thing even if you do imagine he will be the biggest, moaniest man child alive if he ever caught a serious case of man flu. But then ‘other things’, what kind of things?

You finish your soup and he tucks you into bed, the blankets straight jacket tight and comforting. It also doesn’t hurt that you enjoyed every second and every brush of his hands as he made sure you were so snug you can barely move.

“Good girl,” he pats your head with a wink, “sleep it off and in the morning I might even bring you some breakfast, how’d you like that?”

“I like it,” you blurt.

“Fanfuckingtastic,” he walks to the door and hovers at it, “then that’ll be two favours you owe me.”

When he leaves the room, you might still be sick but you’re definitely not miserable. In fact you can’t stop wondering why the hell Negan, the big bad fearless leader, really decided to come into your room and feed you chicken soup. It’s almost as if he cared about you, hell he must do if he was willing to face the situation that was collecting in the back of your nose and sneezing out at every opportunity. Yes, you’re definitely not miserable anymore, in fact you might even float off the bed since you’re filled from head to toe with butterflies. Maybe that’s why Negan tucked you in so tight, he was the kind of man who knew exactly what effect he had on women.


	10. The King's Squire- Negan/You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In celebration of JDM's new King Arthur commercial.
> 
> You've waited for the King to return and you have only one welcome in mind
> 
> Negan/You King Arthur/You

“Your Grace,” you say as he enters his quarters, his face still bloodied from battle, his armour chinking with every step.

“My lady,” his eyes glow, battle fatigue quickly vanishing to a smile that’s filled with vigour as he glances around all corners of the room. Besides yourself and the King there’s nobody here but the wolfhound sleeping lazily by the fire and the shadows that are dancing on the wall.

You bow your head, dipping into a well practiced curtsy, “I pray you can forgive my intrusion.”

He steps towards you, his fingers wrapping around your chin, his gauntlet pressing cold and unyielding into your flesh as he forces you to look at him. “How will you earn my forgiveness Lady Y/N?”

You stand full height, your eyes never leaving his as your hand reaches out towards him. You’d be lying if you said you wasn’t uncertain about your decision to be here right now. You’d never done anything like this before but after watching him riding into battle you’d made a silent promise, if he returned home then you would be waiting for him. So here you were.

First you unfasten his cloak, circling to stand behind him as it falls from his shoulders into your hands, the material thick and heavy, the privacy from his gaze a welcome reprieve as you try to collect your thoughts. Part of you wants to wrap his cloak around your shoulders and extract the warmth of it but you settle for pressing your nose against it, letting the rich scent of war and man make your body race in a way it only does when you’re near the King.

When you’ve hung it on the peg you turn to see him watching you, waiting to see if there’s more to your plan and without hesitation you release him from his metal gloves, your palms soft against his calloused ones, a reminder that today he’s used these very hands to slaughter the life from his enemies. Except in this moment they feel so warm and full of life that you can hardly imagine anything but how they would feel on the more intimate parts of your body.

He unbuckles his own sword belt as you watch, completely entranced by the way he runs his finger along the flat of the blade, whispering something you cannot hear before settling her in a long velvet lined chest that is her home.

“You’re here to be my squire then Lady Y/N?” he assumes, not looking at you.

“I am here for whatever you require Your Grace,” you dare to say, any feebleness lost in the intoxicating situation of being in his room.

He turns to you, his smile bolder, “then carry on My Lady.”

You do as you are told, nimble fingers unstrapping each piece of armour one by one before hanging it in its rightful place on rack. It will need to be polished but that is of little concern to either of you as each passing moment builds a silent energy that has you struggling to even draw breath.

Under all that armour he’s clothed in black and if you were only seeing him like this for the first time you would know he was King from the way he stood, his presence enough to fill the room his face commanding without need for words. You lick your lips, any duties as King’s squire have now found cause to end but you are not a squire, you are a woman who has been watching the King for as long as you can remember.

“And what will you do now My Lady?”

His words encourage your desire as you reach for the fastenings of his coat, loosening them enough for him to ease it off before he throws it away without regard. As he untucks his tunic from his bottoms, the collar falls open enough to show a glimpse of his chest and the hair that covers it. You can’t help but stare, you throat feeling parched, your palms sweaty and the feeling only worsening his he pulls the tunic over his head, letting the material fall to the floor.

“Am I to your liking Lady Y/N?”

His torso bears the scars of many battles and the hard dips and rises of flesh over taut muscles built from hours of training in the yard. You’ve seen men in this state of undress before but it was never like this, it never made your body feel like this. Heat builds between your legs while your tongue darts across your lips in readiness for something primal, something that the mere proximity of his skin to yours is making your body long for. “Yes,” you whisper, the room suddenly filled with heat that could not belong only to the fire no matter how long it burned.

You step away from him, gulping in air as you retrieve the pot of water that has been heating on the flames. He’s sitting on the bed when you turn back, almost as if he’s anticipating your every move. You grab some squares of linen and take a stand between his open thighs, the folds of your skirt the only protection from any indecent touch as you dip the linen into the water, wringing it out before washing it over his face, cleaning away the blood and grime that have made a home there and suit him so well.

When he’s clean and you’ve done all that you dare, your hands fold in front of your dress as he studies you, both of you waiting for the next move like this is all just a game, pieces on a board, soldiers on a field. You bite your bottom lip, your body urging him to do as he may but your mind knowing that there will be no return from that moment.

His hand on your waist emits a startled gasp from your lips, the way he rips open the fastenings of your dress has you breathless. This was what you wanted, without even needing to admit it to yourself you know it’s was what you were here for.

He stands, his hands rough as they push your dress to the floor leaving only your chemise clinging to your shoulders. His lips taste the skin at your neck, his tongue as hot and wet as the arousal you can feel building. When he pauses his pleasurable assault on your senses he grips your cheeks between his thumb and finger once more, his eyes dark and hooded as if they were bewitched, “If you do not leave now Lady Y/N then there will be no stopping me from taking you.”

“As you wish Your Grace,” you whisper, you chest heaving with desperate pants.

“Tell me you have never had another,” he almost begs, his voice laced with the need you can feel swirling in your own body.

“Never.”

With no more words his lips are on yours with firm pressure as his tongue seeks entry to push against yours and eat up any chance you had of breathing. You can think of nothing but how it all feels, his beard scratching your chin, his arms holding you tight as your soft curves mold into his body like they were always meant to be there.

When he releases you from his grasp you’re trembling as his eyes roam the thin covering that holds your modesty before he cups your face, his fingers as gentle as the kisses he peppers you with. The way he slides the remainder of your clothes from your skin is so feather light that you can barely notice you body being bared for him until he’s looking at you like the hounds would look at a pheasant. “A prize not worthy of even a King,” he croons as his hand slips between your thighs, brushing over the soft curls of your womanhood with a deep groan that only makes his touch excite you more.

You can barely stand with the way his touch has your legs quivering so he scoops you up, carrying you like you belonged only to him before he lays you across the bed, climbing next to you to take more of you. His lips find your breasts, sucking your nipples until your hips are thrusting off the bed trying desperately to find some elusive pleasure and he laughed at you, his laugh not mocking but warm as if he’s enthralled by your response to his touch.

“I must taste you,” he announces as he crawls down the bed until his face is between your thighs as if you were the Queen and he was your loyal subject. He kisses your womanhood, the pleasure greater than anything you could anything imagine, the softness of his tongue sending tingles that reach all parts of your body as he lays worship to you. Licking and sucking in all ways necessary to have you panting for breath, your body begging for release of the tension he’s building. When his finger begins swirling the arousal that’s soaking from your body and teasing for entry you can’t stop the rush that consumes you. You body shaking, you eyes closing as you gasped for air to feed the pleasure that’s squeezing every ounce of energy from you limbs until you’re spent.

“You’re as sweet as honey my Lady,” he praises in some faraway voice as you float in what must feel like heaven. His nose nuzzles a tickled path that lead to your lips where he shares the taste of your body in a kiss that brings you back from the sleepiness that had begun to consume you.

“I can wait no longer Lady Y/N, I need all of you,” his voice is deep with need, his own pleasure not yet taken. He strips off the remainder of his clothes, his length thick and long as he kneels between your legs gently stroking it as it glistens with arousal.

Your body tenses in anticipation of him being inside you, sure that it could not possibly fit even if your know it must.

“I’ll be gentle My Lady but there might still be pain.”

You nod, trusting him and disregarding all fears for the pure need to have his body joined with yours. His breathing shudders from his lips, the look on his face pure desire as he begins to kiss your inner thighs, the sensation enough to help you ignore anything but pleasure, his kisses find every part of your skin until finally claiming your lips as his length presses against you.

His gaze holds yours, one hand intertwines with your own  and he begins to push inside. He enters slowly, stretching your body to encase his until you feel a sharpness, almost a graze that has squeezing his hand with a strangled gasp. He pauses, giving a small kiss to your lips, not a muscle moving except for the twitch of his length that’s pulsing inside, desperate for more.

When you lean your head forward to kiss him, a silent signal for more, he begins to move again. His thrusts are gentle, laboured, his face a mix of concentration and euphoria as he takes what his body needs as delicately as he can get it. As his pleasure overtakes him you can feel the pulse of it,  his lips covering yours as he groans, his seed spilling inside you, claiming you as his own, making him your first.

When he pulls his length from your body, you mourn the loss of him despite the soreness that serves as a reminder that you are his tonight and for as long as he wants you.

“Next time will be better,” he promises as if reading your thoughts and confirming that there will be more. You settle your head against his chest letting the crackling fire and the sound of his heart beating sooth you to sleep in the King’s bed like it’s exactly where you belong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)
> 
> I'm not taking any requests at the moment. When I open them I will announce it on Tumblr so don't forget to follow me @superprincessea xoxo


	11. Like a Virgin- Negan/Male Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested for Negan Smut Week.
> 
> Negan/Male Reader, Negan/You
> 
> You're trapped with Negan for the night so you might as well get comfortable.

You could have thought of worse people to be trapped in a hotel room with as you watched Negan pacing the floor like he was trying to work a hole into the plush carpet. He had Lucille on his shoulder and ever so often he would glare out of the window and remind you, “we’re probably gonna be stuck here all fucking night, that stupid shit Dwight, he can’t do any-fucking-thing right.”

Sure, you could have thought of worse people but you could have thought of better people too. Although you had to admit there was one advantage of being trapped with Negan and as you watched his ass while he paced that well worn line you made full use of the situation. He caught you looking, well staring, and gave you an odd look before shaking it off and glancing out the window once more.

Of course he didn’t know you were gay, for a man with an obsession with his dick and putting it in places he was surprisingly oblivious.

“Might as well get comfortable,” you say, falling back on the bed, the sheets crisp and cold against every exposed area of your skin. You’re on the top floor, the Presidential Suite, the name on the door made it sound fancy and maybe it had been twenty years ago when the wallpaper had been fresh and pink carpets had been in vogue. But at least the bedding was untouched and no matter how ugly the decor it was home since the floor below was filled with the groaning of unleashed dead held off only by the pile of furniture you’d helped Negan stack against the stairwell door.

“I’m having the bed,” he says and you roll onto your side, resting your head in your hand.

You want to tell him ‘it’s big enough for two’ but this is Negan, you’ve seen him split a man’s skull in two and burn a mans flesh like cheese on a BBQ so you stand up leaving the smell of your cologne on the sheets and spot the mini bar in the corner of the room.

You open it to find it fully stocked; soft drinks, water, miniature bottles of alcohol all marked up at obscene prices. You grab a fistful of the tiny bottles and turn to Negan holding them out. He smiles, no, he grins and that’s how you end up sprawled on the chaise lounge with Negan sitting on the floor, the back of his head perilously close to his crotch as you talk and drink until it’s dark.

It started as a joke over a ditty about your first sexual encounters and you dared to tell him, “I bet I can give you better head than any of your wives.”

Like a bomb dropped there was a moment of silence, a calm before anything else happened and all you could do was hold your breath. Negan sits up, his back as straight as an ironing board before he turns to look at you, his eyes dark, his lips curved into a smile that’s more curious than appalled.

You exhale, you’ve done it now, no going back. There’s only one thing to say, “who knows better how to give great head than someone with a dick?”

His laugh is nervous, quiet, you’ve never heard him like this before. Its sweet, in this moment he’s back to being a virgin again and you drink his nervous smile in like a fine wine, enjoying every drop before it goes sour.

“I’m sure you’re not the first one to want a taste of my sweet ass, hell, I can hardly blame you when you’re faced with such fucking awesomeness. But I’m not into boys.” His bravado attempts to cover his intrigue but you can see through it like a window pane.

“I’m not a boy,” you retort, drinking down the last of your vodka as you sit up to tower over his place on the floor and tell him, “who’s to say you’d be doing the fucking?”

Negan doesn’t back away from where your face leans close to his, he holds his place, it’s almost like he’s daring you as he says, “I always do the fucking.”

“So do I,” you chance it, dipping your head, your lips almost meeting his before he pulls away and leaves you hanging but not as embarrassed as you might have imagined. Negan’s face is more red than you’ve ever seen it, but it’s the look in his eyes, his heavy lids, his dilated pupils that tells you a story no words can cover up.

You lean back on the chaise with an easy laugh, “you wanna die a virgin?” It’s a line as old as time but the way he reacts is worth the words.

He pulls a face with a deep belly laugh that vibrates across his chest, “if I’m one fucking thing it definitely ain’t a virgin.”

“Maybe not in the normal way.” You look him right in the eye, use the Dutch courage the vodka seems to be supplying you with and say, “but until you’ve felt my cock fucking against your g spot as I jerk you off until you until your whole body is on fire then you’re still a Virgin to me.”

He doesn’t answer right away, he stares at you, his breathing heavy before he decides, “an orgasm is a fucking orgasm and I have plenty of pussy’s to fuck.”

You stand, stroll across the room to open another tiny bottle of vodka and top up your glass before turning back to him with a light shrug of your shoulders, “you’d have to try it to understand.”

“And what would be so fucking good?” his laugh has a nervous edge.

You feel an advantage as you straighten your shoulders and step closer, so close that you suddenly have one hand holding your tumbler of vodka and the other on his dick. It’s not to full alert but it isn’t exactly uninterested either. You swallow hard, this could go good, bad or extremely ugly, “why don’t I show you?”

Negan necks his bourbon with a smile and he doesn’t move away from where you start to stroke, gently coaxing him to attention until his dick is straining against his zipper. Maybe kissing him was the wrong move, it’s too intimate, too romantic, you’re not trying to make him fall in love with you all you want is to have him underneath you, writing as he screams your name.

You unbuckle his belt, he doesn’t say a word and neither do you as you sink to your knees, your own cock straining for some relief as you pull down his jeans and then his boxers, watching with bated breath as his dick springs free. He groans a low growl, his eyes as dark as espresso and the hint that he might change his mind lingers thick in the air but you can’t stop this now, you need to taste him so you don’t hesitate. You lick along his shaft taking him in your mouth and gently sucking his arousal as his hand buries in your hair with a strained groan escaping his lips like he doesn’t want to admit how good your mouth on his dick feels.

You suck him without restraint, taking him deep with one hand massaging his balls, the other stroking his perineum and it doesn’t take long until Negan’s hips are thrusting, fucking your mouth like you knew he would if you ever had the chance to get your lips around him. His pants begin to get loud, agressive, his cock pulsing with desperation but you’re not ready for him to come just yet. If you’re going to have your way with Negan you need him to want it, he needs to be begging for it, so desperate that when he feels you sinking inside him he’ll forget all about pussy and will be inviting you to his room for more than just talking about scavenging and supply runs.

Negan growls when your lips leave him, the glisten of your saliva is proof of ownership as it glistens along his length. You loosen your own belt buckle, pulling yourself free and with long slow strokes finally giving some relief to all the tension that’s aching for release.

“I’m not sucking your dick if that’s what you think,” he pants, his face as frustrated as you’ve ever seen him, his eyes even darker.

“I’m not planning on putting my cock in your mouth,” you say as you begin to pull his shirt over his head and push him onto the bed without any gentleness. You have other places you want to put your cock and you’re not sure you’re going to last long, especially as you keep stroking your eyes transfixed on Negan’s ass in the air and all of it for your taking.

You slap it before grinding yourself against him with a satisfied groan. You wonder how many women Negan has had in this very position, bowing down on the bed while he fucks them, and relish the fact that you’re the first man to have him like this. You grab his length, pumping him in a steady rhythm you’re sure will keep him very interested as you prepare him to take you.

You suck your finger then tease his ass before pushing inside, his muscles clench tight in surprise at the new sensation and this only makes you even harder, even more excited. You wait for him to relax and lose himself in the steady pumps your working him with before you explore, your finger finding his g spot and stroking it until he’s crying out, his hands bunching into the bedsheets, his ass pushing for more.

“You like that baby?” you say, your throat thick, you can hardly stand the wait as your cock drips with need, desperate to feel him.

Negan grunts and you take it as a yes, adding a second finger and stretching him open a little more. “You’re so fucking tight,” you tell him, your other hand slipping from his cock, forcing him to feel only the sensation of your fingers owning his ass.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” he groans, trying to take back leadership but his power has slipped from this room as quickly as your finger slipped into his ass and you were always a top.

You laugh, easing your fingers out before holding you hand in front of his face and demanding, “spit.”

He does, with hesitation, but Negan spits as told and you relish his obedience as you glide the wetness along your shaft momentarily imaging how good it was going to feel before you begin to thrust inside his tight walls, slowly stretching him over your cock and feeling exactly how good it is or as Negan would say how ‘fan-fucking-tastic’.

“Fuck,” he moans with a whine that’s half pleasure and half pain, your cock slowly sinking all the way in before you begin to pump his dick in your hand, making sure he is good and needy, his precum helping you glide along his thick shaft.

“You’re gonna want this again, you’re gonna come so fucking hard with my cock in your ass,” you promise, sliding out and back in, the angle of your thrusts hitting his sweet spot.

Negan’s moans drive you wild, your own release building quickly as you grind into him over and over, his cock throbbing in your hand.

“Fuck,” he curses over and over as his release builds. This time you don’t stop or hold back, your hand keeps pumping a rhythm that matches your hips until he’s crying out something between a hallelujah and a curse, his release milking into your hands as his body clenches around your cock, squeezing you so tight you can hardly take how good it feels as your own orgasm shoots uncontrolled, filling hot spurts inside Negan like you’ve imagined doing so many times before.

You savour the aftershocks before you finally pull out, watching your come dripping from where you’ve taken Negan’s virginity. You’ve owned him tonight and can’t help but feel more satisfied than you’ve felt in a long time. Even if there’s no part two and you never talk about this again then it was still one hell of a way to spend the evening. You push him over, collapse next to him on the bed, it’s definitely big enough for two and there’s no way you’re moving now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. This was my first time writing M/M so I hope you enjoyed it xoxo


	12. Happy Birthday Baby- Negan/You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Negan wishes you Happy Birthday

You’re alarm beeps to start a new day and it’s official, you’re another year older but definitely not any wiser. You roll over, squashing the pillow on your head and squeezing your eyes shut. All you want to do is stay in bed but that’s only an option in the fantasy that plays out in your head. The same fantasy you usually have except instead on Negan slinking into your room with a tray of food and saying ‘good morning’ he says ‘happy birthday baby’.

  
  


You chance one foot out of you quilt to test the temperature and it's as cold as you predicted but you get up anyway. Of course Negan has never brought you anything, in fact he’s barely spoken to you but a girl can dream right?

  
  


You get dressed, jeans, shirt, sneakers, your post apocalyptic uniform and it's off to work in the stockroom. All you have to do is make sure nothing gets taken out of store without it being marked on the list. Sounds easy right? Sure, if people were honest but people can be sneaky when they want something bad enough. You have to have eyes at the back of your head, not to mention having to turn people away when they don’t have enough points. If asked, you’d say you hated your job and it would be just about the most normal thing a person could say in a world filled with the dead. 

  
  


You sit on the stool behind your desk with your shoulders slumped as you count the seconds until its shift over and you can get back into bed. You’re two hours in when a familiar leather jacket fills up your line of sight and your gaze slowly sweeps upwards where it connects with Negans. 

  
  


“You look like a dog with its balls chopped off on national fucking day.”

  
  


“I’m a woman.”

  
  


“And I’ve fucking noticed. You might not know this about me but I can tell the difference between a chick and a dude,” he chuckles at his own joke before adding, “I just think there’s nothing sadder than a dog with no fucking balls.”

  
  


You don’t know why but you tell him, “today’s my birthday.”

  
  


“Well Happy Fucking Birthday to you baby. And how many candles are you having on your cake?”

  
  


You mouth waters at the mere mention of cake, your stomach grumbles too and it makes you spit out, “I don’t have a cake.”

  
  


Negan’s laugh is infectious, a deep rumble that heats your core like the good quality hot chocolate you get in expensive coffee shops, rich, satisfying and addictive. “I guess not. Why didn’t you take the day off?”

  
  


“I didn’t realise we got holiday pay.” 

  
  


He laughs again passing you the list he has in his hand, no doubt filled with luxuries for his wives, the kind of luxuries mere lowly mortals like yourself can only stare at on the shelf, toothpaste and razor blades, cookies and the last of the Twinkies. 

  
  


“Don’t you like working for me?” he asks when you return with his supplies and you choke, fumbling the box as you slide it in front of him.

  
  


You hate your job but you don’t hate Negan. He’s hard to hate with his deep set dimples and… well, let's face it, everything else. “Its… er… fine.”

  
  


“Fine?” he strums his finger on the desk, “just fine? How can I make it better?”

  
  


When you dare to look in his eye he has this devious glint that makes your heart race just enough to have you saying, “kiss me.”

  
  


Negan pushes his box aside, shoving it across the desk until it almost topples on the floor and then he hops over to your side like a tiger pouncing for a gazelle. You stiffen, both regretting your request and praising yourself for having the nerve to say it.

  
  


His hand buries in your hair, pulling your head back so you’re looking at him and the way he’s grinning as his eyes rove across your lips before he crushes his mouth to yours, kissing you like he owns you. He taste how he looks, all man and pure sex and it's a heady combination. With his mouth on yours and his hands all over your body, you fall limp with only Negan as an anchor to keep you from melting to his feet. When he’s finished he licks his lips, his tongue darting out in the way that always made you tingle before you’d even had it in your mouth. Now it makes your body feel like it's on fire.

  
  


“Any-fucking-thing else you want for your Birthday baby doll?” he asks and you know exactly what you’re going to say. 


	13. Treat her like a lady- Negan/Lucille

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Negan and Lucille's First Valentine's Day
> 
> Drabble/Fluff

Lucille was the kind of girl you do the whole shebang for on Valentine's day. Hearts, candies, dinner and romance. It wasn’t Negan’s usual style, never had been, but when he met her it was different. She made him want to pick out one of those stupid cards that had a picture of a pizza and the tag line ‘you stole a pizza my heart’. 

 

So like any goofball boyfriend he’d ordered flowers, long stemmed red roses, and bought the champagne with a price tag bigger than his car payments. The only thing he hadn’t planned for was the insane waiting list all the restaurants seemed to have this time of year so instead of taking her out he was cooking up a storm the only way he knew how, spaghetti and meatballs. For dessert he’d even driven the two hour drive to get her very favourite chocolate cake from the tiny overpriced bakery that sat in her home town.

 

So when the doorbell rang he was feeling pretty fucking good in his pressed shirt and trousers. All gussied up to treat her like a perfect lady, just like she deserved. At least that was the plan right up until the moment he opened the door and his eyes landed on the dress that hugged her figure in all the  right places. 

 

Suddenly being a gentleman was the last thing on his mind and the dinner on the stove could burn to dust. If he’d have been a cartoon character his jaw would have hit the floor with his tongue rolling out like a red carpet but he was a man. So he just stood staring while all the blood in his brain rushed southwards and his dick started doing the thinking. 

 

“Happy Valentine’s day Negan,” she said, her hollywood red lips curving into a smile that told him she knew exactly what she looked like in that dress.

  
He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her against him and sucking down her perfume until he was drunk on it, “Jesus fucking christ woman, you might kill a man turning up at his door like this.” When he kissed her he didn't stop until he was throwing her onto the bed and peeling that dress open like his own personal valentine's day gift.

 

Romance could fucking wait when his Valentine was so damn fuckable.


	14. Butterfly- Daryl/You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: A very awkward Daryl trying to surprise me with something for Valentines Day could possibly end up smutty.
> 
> Daryl/You, Fluff

Daryl had been pacing along your porch for the past forty five minutes. You hadn’t let him know you’d spotted him, you’d sat quietly reading your book until you could no longer take the heavy sound of his footfalls or the anticipation that swelled in your chest every time he hovered in front of the door.

 

Folding down your page and resting your book on the coffee table you decide to take matters into your own hands. He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t even notice you standing at the open door until you began to speak. “Are you coming in or just wearing down my porch?”

 

“Huh?” his ears are burning red as he glances your way while trying to take a casual lean on the porch railing and almost falling over it instead.

 

You bite back your laugh at the way he tries to recover his fall, after all you don’t want him to run away and with the way his eyes are darting about he’s obviously considering it. “Well are you coming in or not?” you say with authority. You’re realising that waiting for Daryl to make all the moves would take you a hundred years and you don’t have the years or the patience. 

 

With a shrug of his shoulders and his eyes firmly fixed on his boots he mumbles, “if thats what ya want…”

 

He’s hopeless! He might be able to track a wild boar, build a fire with nothing but a stick and shoot a target further than you could spot one but when it comes to taking the big hints you’ve been laying in front of his face ever since you’ve known him he’s like a blind man with his hands tied behind his back. 

 

You turn back into the house smiling to yourself, leaving the door open and praying he follows you inside. He does. He follows you to the kitchen where you place the kettle on the stove, making you both a cup of sweet tea as Daryl fidgets with his fingers and shifts on his stool like he’s taken a seat on an ants nest.

 

“Are you okay?” you say, sliding his mug of tea in front of him, desperate to know exactly why he’s been hovering outside your house half the morning.

 

He looks right at you, his blue eyes wary, his adam's apple bobbing in one hard swallow as he thrust his hand in his pocket rummaging around. For a heartbeat you think he’s going to give the heart of a squirrel or something equally barbaric but what he pulls out is gold, at least it looks gold from what you can see all scrunched up in his fist. 

 

You smile, excited butterflies dancing in your stomach, for you? He’s got something for you? 

 

Daryl clears his throat, “ya said.. Ya know… you like uh… here.” Clumsy fingers thrust your present into your hand and the feel of his skin on yours enough to make your heart skip a beat.

 

It's a necklace, a dainty pink butterfly pendant on a chain so fine it's barely visible against your skin. It's perfect. A wave of warmth fills you from top to toe as you imagine him seeing this somewhere out in the world and thinking of you, bringing it back for you.

 

“I love it!” you smile, pulling your hair over you shoulder and fastening it around your neck all the while imagining Daryl having the finesse to do it for you instead. Maybe next time. “What do you think?” you say, elongating your neck.

 

“You’re real pretty,” he blurts, his ears turning even redder as he panics, knocking his cup of tea all over the counter and scrambling off his stool like he’s going to bolt straight out the door.

 

You hook your hand around his bicep, with any other man you’d make him do the chasing but with Daryl you do what you’re sure he never will no matter how many signs you give him. You kiss him, right on the lips, your hands sliding behind his neck with a sigh.

 

Daryl's hands rest awkwardly on your shoulders, his tongue barely escaping his mouth like he still isn’t sure. 

 

“Relax,” you tell him and it's now or never. If you want this man then you can’t be subtle so you say it plain, “I want you Daryl. I’ve wanted you for a long time.”

 

The way he looks at you changes, you can almost see the shyness floating from his eyes like a butterfly on the wind. He doesn’t say anything, he’s not a man of words and you don’t need him to be, he grabs you like you belong to him and kisses you like you’ve been wanting him to. Hard and rough, taking control like you’re the wilderness waiting to be explored.


	15. The Proposal- Negan/Lucille

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Negan proposes to Lucille

The house was empty with Lucille away on business and it shouldn’t have bother Negan, after all she went away all the time, but this was different. Negan couldn’t quite put his finger on it but he was sick as a dog, his heart physically ached and his mind couldn’t keep its thoughts away from her. She’d been gone five hours but it felt like longer and he didn’t want to even think about the amount of text messages he’d already sent her. 

  
  


He switched off his phone,  banning himself from being a lovesick pussy or at least banning himself from letting her know that. That was until he wondered,  _ why _ ? Why didn’t he want Lucille to know how much he missed her, how much he wanted to kiss her, to feel her in his arms, to lay his head next to hers and know she’d be there in the morning. 

  
  


Everything was different with her, she was his first thought, his last and everything in between. At some point he’d told her he loved her, it was a thing you do, the woman says it and unless you want to be a huge dick you say it back. It was like right now in this very moment love wasn’t just a word anymore. Like he’d only been scratching the surface before and now he was falling right to the core, letting the word consume him. 

  
  


_ Fucking hell.  _ Negan grabbed his keys, pulled on his jacket and without worrying about a single thing he was climbing onto his bike and zipping off his drive like a bat outta hell.

  
  


It wasn’t a nice night for a two hour ride, the night sky was cloudy enough to make the roads as dark as ink and the rain was pouring in heavy sheets. All he could think about was getting to  Lucille until he was pulling up in the hotel carpark and strolling into the reception with his hair a mess of helmet head and his clothes dripping wet all over the floor.

  
  


He banged on the desk bell several impatient times until a disgruntled looking woman slid into the cheap executive chair behind an old computer.

  
  


“I’d like the room number of Lucille Pemberley,” he said before she’d even had a chance to pull her reading glasses on her nose.

  
  


“Sir,” a smug smile crept across her lips, “I can’t give out guest information.”

  
  


“You don’t understand, she’s my girlfriend and I  _ need  _ to see her. I need to…” what did he need to do? He couldn’t think straight with this receptionist giving him the stink eye.

  
  


“I do understand, but I can’t give out guest information. Why don’t you call her and ask her to come down to the lobby.” She said, like he was some kind of imbecile who couldn’t solve a simple problem.

  
  


Negan did his best shit eating grin as he patted his pockets, yeah he’d call Lucille down and maybe they’d make out all over the front desk in front of Miss Tight Ass. His glee was short lived as he quickly realised he’d left his phone on his sofa, switched off and two hours away. “ _ Shit _ .”

  
  


The receptionist looked at him like he actually was a piece of shit.

  
  


“I forgot my fucking phone if you can believe it.” 

  
  


She arched one eyebrow in the same way his Principle used to do when he’d been called into the office.

  
  


“Look, can’t you give me a break sweetheart?”

  
  


Her face was as hard as steel, “there’s a payphone down the road.” 

  
  


“Fan-fucking-tastic!” He announced slamming his hand on the counter “somebody oughta recommend you for a fucking customer service award.” 

  
  


“I don’t like your tone,” she scolded him and he was done fucking around, it was late and the rain was even heavier than before. 

  
  


He edged towards the fire escape that lead to the rooms and decided  _ ‘fuck it’ _ as he barged through shouting “Lucille” as loud as he could and he had to be loud since the alarm was blaring like it was the end of the world.

  
  


“Sir?” the receptionist chased after him threatening to call the cops but she was nothing but a dot in his rearview mirror. Even the threat of being arrested couldn’t stop him as he bounded up a flight of stairs calling for Lucille like a crazy man.

  
  


Disgruntled hotel guests poked their heads out of their rooms and Negan became more obsessed with finding her. He shot up another flight of stairs, banging on doors and calling her name before he hit the jackpot. Lucille stepped out into the hall with her hair all ruffled and her nightgown slipping from her shoulder to give him a taste of all the places he wanted to kiss her.

  
  


“What are you doing here?” she gasped, half asleep, half embarrassed as she looked over his shoulder to what he assumed was an audience of pissed off hotel guests.

  
  


He grinned, if he had a tail it would be wagging like the love sick puppy he was, “I missed you baby.”

  
  


“If you missed me,  _ call _ . You don’t need to wake up a hundred people with all your yelling.”

  
  


“I needed to see you,” his hands found home around her waist, even her scolding couldn’t squash what was swelling across his chest bursting to come out. “Fucking hell baby, I missed you so bad.”

  
  


“Are you okay Negan?” he voice was velvet soft, concern crinkling into her nose in the cutest little way.

  
  


“I love you. I fucking love you Lucille and,” he dropped to his knee taking her hand in his, “I want you to marry me.”

  
  


The look on her face wasn’t exactly happy, in fact all the blood drained out of it as she pulled on his hand insisting, “you should get up.”

  
  


“Woman, fuck everyone else! I’m asking you to marry me here.”

  
  


She didn’t answer. Instead, Negan felt a tug at his arms and suddenly he was being lifted in the air, a police officer on each side while Lucille covered her face with her hands, no doubt wishing you would sinking to the carpet and disappear.

  
  


The police dragged him outside like a mangy dog while the receptionist followed behind demanding, “I want him removed from the property.”

  
  


He’d fucked it. Jesus. What the hell was he even thinking? The officers shoved him out into the rain with a warning that if he stepped in the hotel again he’d be spending the night in a cell. So he stood by his bike letting the rain wash over his face not knowing whether to laugh or cry at how crazy he’d just acted. 

  
  


“You’re a real dumbass Negan, you know that?” Lucille’s voice was a ray of sunshine in the dark, he turned to look at her standing in the downpour with nothing but a pair of boots and a nightgown.

  
  


“Yeah,” he nodded, shrugging off his jacket and wrapping it around the only woman he’d ever cared about,“I’m fucking crazy ‘bout you.” 

  
  


Her lips brushed his and the way she smiled reminded him of their first date before she whispered, “ _ yes _ .”

  
  


Negan cocked his head to the side, his couldn’t stop the grin that peeled from corner to corner, “yeah?”

  
  


“I’ll marry you!” Lucille shouted loud enough for the whole world to hear. “I love you Negan, even if you are a dumbass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to follow me on Tumblr @superprincesspea for all the drabbles and prompts I don't publish here :)


	16. Awake- Rick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: It was all Rick's coma dream

Rick’s throat was dry. Sealed like two pieces of tape stuck together. He tried to swallow but there wasn’t even a drop of saliva, just pain. He could hear a noise, a steady beep as he slowly peeled open one eye and then the other, the faded light blinding him until his pupils adjusted from what felt like a long sleep. 

  
  


He was in bed. He could feel the cotton sheets under his fingertips even if all he could see was the ceiling, pure white with a long strip light that flickered every now and then. He couldn’t move his head, not even when a voice beside him began to shriek and a clatter of noise stumbled around the room, foot falls, the slam of a door, more shouting. He wanted to look, he wanted to know where he was but his body was numb, he had no control of anything but keeping his eyes open and firmly fixed on the light. 

  
  


The bed dipped and a blurred face filled his vision, cold fingers peeling his eyelids wider and shining a torch into his pupil, “Rick, can you hear me?” 

  
  


The voice was familiar, it helped him find the focus that the rest of his body could not. “ _ Sasha _ ,” he wanted to say but the tape in his throat was trapping all the words.

  
  


“My names Dr. Williams. You were involved in a shooting Rick, you’ve been in a coma for more than two years. I want you to blink once if you can understand?”

  
  


He didn’t understand. Sasha was a firefighter not a Doctor and he hadn’t been in a coma he’d been in Alexandria. Despite what he knew he blinked or at least that's what he hoped he was doing.

  
  


“That's good Rick,” she confirmed, “the nurse is going to give you some water.”

  
  


At her words a straw was stuck into the corner of his mouth and a stream of liquid washed away the dryness as he imagined rainfall would fill an riverbed without a river, seeping in all the cracks and bringing it back to life. His eyes flicked to the nurse with the water bottle to see Beth dressed in scrubs with her hair tied back and a gentle smile, a forgotten smile. 

  
  


_ I’m dead _ , he decided as panic set into his heavy limbs. It was the only explanation. 

  
  


The straw was removed and he was back to staring at nothing but the ceiling as somewhere in the background  indistinct conversation was joined with the same high pitched wailing he’d heard before. The wailing came closer and another ghost like face filled his field of vision, blurred and then sharp as his focus turned into Lori.

  
  


She was crying as she stroked his cheek, the familiar smell of her perfume played out like a thousand snapshots in time. “It's a miracle,” she kept saying over and over until his eyelids began to droop and the world faded back to black.

  
  


Over the next few days it became easier to talk except he didn’t always want to. He didn’t know if he was alive or dead, awake or asleep. When his eyes closed he was home with Judy, Carl and Michonne. When he opened them he saw Jesus mopping around the bed, Aaron and Sasha  talking over clipboards and Lori sitting in the sagging chair with a worn paperback resting on her lap. 

  
  


“Negan?” he said, remembering the terror that had gripped him as he watched Glenn and Abraham die. It felt like it had only been a few weeks ago but now he was unsure as both worlds, alive and dead, seemed to jumble in his head.

  
  


Lori held his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “The doctors told me to talk to you. I didn’t know if you could ever hear me or understand but I read you books, magazines, all sorts of things. I know Nurse Greene, Beth, she talked to you a lot too.”

  
  


“Is he here?”

  
  


“Who?”

  
  


“Negan!”

  
  


She sighed, running her hands through her hair, “I had to take a part time job, Negan’s my boss at Savers.”

  
  


“ _ Saviors _ ?”

  
  


“Savors. It's a supermarket that's opened, it replaced Alexander's. Remember? We used to go there to get that spaghetti sauce Carl liked when he was a baby. Well, my boss is a real piece of work, Carl came to visit me after batting practice one day and accidentally knocked over a stack of watermelons.” She frowned, reliving the moment in her head, “Negan docked me half a day's wage. Half of it! I probably mentioned it to you... ” she sighed, “I can’t believe I’m even telling you this. You’re back and that's all that matters now.”

  
  


“Am I?” 

  
  


“Of course you’re back,” her brow furrowed into lines that he couldn’t remember being there before, he barely recognised her. 

  
  


She stood, her face turning away to look at the man that crept inside the door. “Father Gabriel, it's a  _ miracle _ ,” she said, holding him like she knew him, like they’d spent hours in each others company.

  
  


_ Miracle.  _ It didn’t feel like a miracle, he felt like he was lost and more lonely than he’d ever been since that first day he woke up in the hospital. He remembered stepping into the world of dead, the smell of it, the confusion, but he hadn’t really been awake then, had he?

  
  


“We’ve been praying for your Rick,” Gabriel smiled, his bible clutched to his chest, “it looks like our prayers were answered.”

  
  


Rick laughed but it was bitter. He couldn’t talk about prayers, not with what he’d seen, “what about Judith? Where is she? I wanna see her.”

  
  


Lori shared a look with Father Gabriel, “he’s been asking so many questions.”

  
  


“Don’t talk like I’m not here! I want to see Judith!”

  
  


Lori stroked her fingers through his hair, her voice soft, “who’s Judith?” 

  
  


Rick’s stomach turned over. He couldn't take another minute of this. Anything else he could accept no matter how confusing it was but not a world without Judy. He rolled from the bed, collapsing into a pile on the floor, his IV popping from his hand with a stream of blood spurting over the white tiles. 

  
  


“Liars!” he decided, his legs like jelly, impossible to control as he dragged his body in an army crawl, one arm at a time.

  
  


Lori was crying again, trying to help him up before giving up and frantically pressing the call button by his bed but he didn’t care. Judith was real! She was more real to him than Lori. He could give up anything but his kids. He crawled to the corridor where he finally lay down, too exhausted to move further, too broken to find inner strength. 

  
  


There were people everywhere, most of them giving him horrified looks, others just carrying on like it was an ordinary day. 

  
  


It was an ordinary day for everyone else. There were no walkers or terror, no Judy or Michonne. Rick pressed his face to the tiles on the floor, all he wanted to do was go back to sleep, back to the real world.  _ His world.  _


	17. Being Fired- Negan/You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: how about some hero Negan? the love of his life gets in to some really dangerous situation (maybe surrounded by walkers and stranded when out on a supply run or something) and he fights his way to her side? i’m dying to see read about his relief when he realizes that she’s okay, his pissed off attitude over her getting herself in to the situation, & maybe some sexy times to relieve all of that built up tension?

This was it, one stupid mistake and you were going to die. You felt numb with acceptance, more worried that you wouldn’t get to say goodbye than anything else. You took a deep breath, calm washing over you and suddenly there he was, Negan. Bashing through walker skulls in a rampage that made him look like a medieval warrior. He looked unstoppable, his eyes dark, possessed with blood lust as the dead swarmed him and he batted them away like they were made of air.

Hope began to rekindle and somewhere deep down your will to live found its strength, deciding, not today, it wouldn’t be today. Negan would get to you, he’d keep you alive and you never should have doubted him.

When he finally had you in his arms it wasn’t the comforting reunion you might have hoped for. You didn’t know whether he was going to kiss you or finish what the dead had almost started. The look in his eyes was feral, his nose flaring as his chest heaving in laboured pants as if he was trying to contain a beast waiting to leap free. His grip on your arms was so tight you could almost feel the bruises begin to flower at his fingertips.

“I’m okay,” you promise as gentle as you can but even gentleness can’t calm the beast.

“You almost fucking died!” Negan roars as the other Saviors slink out of sight, leaving you alone with him and your heart begins to thud in heavy beats.

You’ve never seen him like this, so angry, so uncontrolled. If he started crying it wouldn’t shock you. He’s practically shaking with emotion. “That is fucking IT. You’ve had your fun sweetheart but you’re not stepping one foot out of the Sanctuary again, I fucking mean it! If you so much as stick your pinky though the gate I will take you over my knees so hard and so fucking fast that you won’t know whether to laugh or cry. Do. You. Under-Fucking-Stand?”

“You don’t own me!” you bite back and perhaps this isn’t the best moment to fight your corner with him but you’re not going to be his possession no matter how much that might piss him off. “We made a deal and I’m not hiding in your room like the others.”

“Yeah well, I almost saw you die so I’ve changed my goddamn mind. I must have been outta my goddamn mind letting you out here in the first fucking place!”

A walker creeps from behind a building, the temporary distraction allowing you to catch your breath as Negan storms towards it. In his fury he doesn’t even use Lucille. He balls his fist, pulls back his arm and punches the dead man with so much force it’s head snaps off, hitting the floor like a cantaloup. You shudder, staring at Negan’s back as he shakes off his hand and stares into the distance for the longest time.

When he turns around his eyes are softer, his shoulders relaxed and he pulls you into his arms with tenderness, his nose pressing into you hair, “if I lost you it would kill me and if I bring you out here again then I’m not gonna be able to concentrate, all I’m gonna be thinking about is you.”

“I fucked up.” You got too confident, you wanted to prove you belonged with Saviors instead of the wives and you made a mistake.

“You don’t have to prove anything to those other fucks. I love you and I will fucking love you if you spend the day sitting in my bed, working in the kitchen or counting tins of fucking beans in the stores. I can’t love you if you’re dead.”

“I know.”

“But…” he kisses your forehead, his smile making its first appearance, “if you’ve gotta do something then I vote for you waiting in my bed wearing nothing but a smile.”

You roll your eyes, as much as you love Negan being just his wife would never satisfy. But he’s right, there are other jobs, safer things for you to do, so you nod. “Okay, I’ll stay safe but I want a proper position.”

His smile becomes a grin, his eyes dark with an altogether different emotion. “I can think of a few positions… and that reminds me…” his lips graze your ear “there’s one thing I’ll miss about not having you out here,” he rocks his hips into yours, licking your lobe before nibbling it.

“Show me,” you say, breathless as your body tingles for his touch.

Negan growls as he backs you against the wall of the nearest building, tears open your jeans and scrapes them down before you can worry about who might see. His hand slips between your legs, his finger finds just the right spot and you bite back a moan until it sinks inside and you sigh.

“Always ready, that’s my fucking girl,” he praises, his fingers wet with your arousal as he unbuckles his own belt with hooded eyes and a toothy grin, like he’s about to consume you.

He spins you so you’re facing the wall, hands purchased onto the bricks for support as he kicks your legs apart to get you into the perfect position. It isn’t long before you feel his cock teasing against your entrance, making you wait in almost painful anticipation before he fills you in one hard thrust that has you gasping his name. When your body has adjusted to the fullness, you press against him, wanting more and Negan is always happy to oblige. He slides in and out easily, coating his cock in all your wetness as his fingers rubs circles between your thighs in time with him thrusts. Negan knows just how to make you body race to finish, greedily eating up every ounce of pleasure as the thrill of being caught with your pants around your ankles only enhances every sensation.

“I’m getting close baby,” he warns, fucking you with harder strokes, his other fingers caressing your nipple through the thin cotton of your tee and bra to help tip you over the edge.

“Oh god,” you cry out as the pressure begins to swell, his thumb squeezes hard on your clit and your orgasm hits you like the brick wall you’re clinging to, your pussy tightening around his dick as he spills his own climax inside you.

You hear him zip himself back into his jeans before he slaps your naked ass, leaving you slouched against the wall like a rag doll. If this is your severance package then you might find a way to be fired from your job everyday of the week.


	18. Paperback Writer- Daryl/OC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU in which Daryl is a cocky biker in a Motorcycle Club called the Saviors.  
> Daryl/OC, NSFW, One Shot, AU

When Dwight broke down, and Daryl could have almost guaranteed it would be Dwight, he didn’t chew him out. He pulled his helmet off his head, noticed the bright yellow lights of a nearby bar and turned to his brothers, “I guess we’re spendin’ the night ‘ere.”

  
  


The Saviors had never been to this little podunk town before but it was already late after a hellish cross country ride and the idea of a cool beer followed by some fresh tail was a hell of a lot more interesting than everyone standing around with their fingers up their asses while they waited for Dwight to sort out his shit. So even though they were only thirty miles from home, home could wait until morning and morning could wait until after a hard lay and half a pack of smokes. 

  
  


They lined up their bikes in a neat row that spanned the entire parking lot then Daryl added the butt of his cigarette onto the pile by the door before entering the bar and letting the jukebox music escape. When he stepped over the threshold, all eyes turned their way. Walking into a room with eight men clad in dark jeans and leather cuts had that effect on people. He didn’t smile, he let them get their nervous looks, taking in the patches sewn on his vest before they pretended they hadn’t been staring. Saviors MC, nobody needed to recognise the name on the cut to know what it meant,  _ don’t fuck with us. _

  
  


He nodded to his brothers, permission granted to go wild and they took it, descending like horny locusts on a group of girls who were crowded around a tiny table just waiting for the right kind of trouble. Daryl laughed under his breath before his gaze zeroed in on the long chestnut hair that fell in waves around the babe sitting alone at the bar. 

  
  


She had one foot on the bottom rung of her stool and the other leg bent awkwardly on the seat next her very slappable ass as she typed away on her laptop. She looked at odds with the surroundings, her laptop and sundress belonged in some swanky coffee shop rather than this smoke filled bar but lucky for him there she was, lit up with crappy lighting and only a glass of bourbon to keep her company.  _ Perfect _ .

  
  


Daryl ran his fingers through his hair, shaking away the helmet head as he stalked his way across the room, weaving between the tables and circling behind her like a predator stalking its prey. She smelled good, floral but not too sickly or girly, it was sexy as fuck and it already his dick was doing pushups in his jeans. 

  
  


She was so engrossed in the relentless clicking of her keys that she didn’t even react to his presence standing behind her nor did she notice the slight graze of his finger as it swept across the soft fabric of her dress. He definitely had a thing for brunettes so the need to see her face was more compulsion than anything else and if the face matched the body then this was a done fucking deal.

  
  


He pushed her hair off her shoulder, the strands of its silky to his touch as he unveiled her profile and the startled look that crossed it. She spun her head to look at him, her eyes bright blue and open wide as they studied his face before trailing down his chest and settling on his cut with just the hint of distaste. He kind of liked that distaste because it confirmed she wasn’t like the girls they got at the clubhouse or the skanks that threw themselves at his feet whenever he went to any bar.  She was natural, no tattoo’s or heavy makeup just full pink lips, smooth skin and the kiss of a Georgia tan. 

  
  


He felt the smile tugging at his lips as he moved behind her, leaning over her shoulder to get an even better look at what she’d been typing before he so rudely interrupted.

  
  


“Negan grasped at Lucille’s hand to pull her behind the stone wall that separated the secret garden from the house. She knew he was going to kiss her and that she wouldn’t stop him, her heart beat fast-” he began to read, quickly realising exactly what kind of book this chick was writing before the laptop slammed shut and she swivelled her body to face him, her knees dangerously close to his crotch.

  
  


Daryl chuckled, taking a lock of her hair and smoothing it behind her ear, making sure to let his fingers brush a trail of tingles down her neck. He could see it affected her from the sharp breath she inhaled and they way she squirmed on the stool. “How’s ya heart doin’ darlin’?” he asked, toying with her. 

  
  


Blue eyes darted from his face to his cut and back again.

  
  


“ _ Well _ ?” 

  
  


“Fine,” the word came out breathy and so damn sexy he felt his dick twitching even harder than it already was. 

  
  


He couldn’t remember the last time his dick had got this excited about some random woman in a bar but as his gaze trailed along her body he knew it was because she was so goddamned perfect. “If that's Southern Comfort than I reckon this might be love.”  He gestured to the glass that was idling on the bar as her cheeks filled pink enough to let him know the answer before he even brought it to his lips.

  
  


He liked to come on strong, throw a woman off balance before he went in for the kill. Worked every time and it was one of the only bits of advice his big brother had given him that had ever been worth a damn. He drained the glass and indicated for two more just as his perfect girl decided to make a quick getaway.

  
  


“Excuse me,” she said, her eyes never leaving his lips as she slipped from her stool, her body brushing past his on the way. 

  
  


Daryl laughed under his breath. There was no way in hell he was letting her walk so easily. Not when he had her in his sights, they didn’t call him Track for nothing. His hand hooked around her arm to pull her back, “not so fast darlin’. Not without telling me yer name.”

  
  


///

  
  
  


“You don’t need to know my name,” Indie decided as she tugged her arm away from him, folding it over her laptop as if it was her shield and pretending the rough touch of his fingers hadn’t sent a spark of heat to her core.

  
  


“Oh I do,” he drawled, his face so close to hers that she could feel the warmth of his breath mixed with the sweet notes of her stolen bourbon. “An’ you’re gonna tell me, then I’m gonna tell ya mine so ya know exactly what you're gonna be moanin’ later.”

  
  


Before the words truly sank in she was already reacting, her hand swinging to strike hard across his face like any scorned woman would do in every book she’d ever read. The clap of her palm connecting with his cheek was so sharp and so loud that it made her jump, her heart beating out of control as she felt a sea of eyes burning into the side of her face. When she dared to look at the room she noticed his friends standing up and readying themselves for repercussions but the man before her just laughed and shook it off like it wasn’t the first time.

  
  


“Fair play but try it again Darlin’ an’ yer ass will be smartin’ so hard you’ll forget what the goddamn question was.” His hand rested on his belt buckle and she was certain that he meant every word. “Now, whats ya name?”

  
  


“None of your business, Mr,” her eyes landed on his vest and all the patches that were emblazoning it, including his road name, “ _ Track _ , lay one finger on me again and I’ll take my Daddy’s shotgun to your balls.” 

  
  


“Is that a fact darlin’?”

  
  


Indie didn’t answer him or even look at him she wasn’t sure she could without doing something she might regret. She jumped over the top of the bar like she had so many times and without looking back, disappeared into the hallway that led to the staff toilets, a storage room and Denny’s office.

  
  


Her brother was on holiday for a couple of weeks with his wife and like a good sister she’d promised to look over the bar for him but cocky bikers hadn’t been part of the deal. She flopped onto the beaten up old chair in the corner, taking comfort in the worn leather and the soft sag of the foam. It had been here since before she could remember and Indie could still imagine her father sitting in it, back before he had died, when the bar had belonged to him.

  
  


She buried her face in her hands, her cheeks filling pink at the memory of that cocky biker reading a line from her romance novel and probably deciding she was some ridiculous spinster with a hundred cats and in desperate need for attention. She wasn’t. She was happily single. Romance might have been what she loved to read and write but real men could never quite compare to the ones created on paper. She sighed, her body still flushed with excitement from the way he’d looked at her but her mind convincing her she’d made the right decision when she ran away. Now all she had to do was hide, the office was a better place to work anyway.

  
  


When the bar was finally empty of patrons and the glasses were cleared away, Indie said goodbye to the staff, giving everywhere a final once over before flicking off the lights and locking up the doors. She climbed into the old chevy truck that had belonged to her father and when she turned the key in the ignition there was nothing but silence. She tried again, hope quickly fading as she let out a long exasperated sigh and hit her head against the back of the seat. 

  
  


_ Perfect _ . Then she noticed it. 

  
  


A light burning in the darkness that had swamped the parking lot of the bar, the tiny end of a cigarette and behind it the smile of that cocky biker as he leaned against his chopper without a care in the world.

  
  


Indie’s heart began to thud, she couldn’t tell if it was because she was a afraid or something else. She stepped out of her truck with the intention of running back into the bar and bolting the door. But he began to talk and she froze, her hand slipping into her purse and finding the can of pepper spray she’d had since college.

  
  


“Truck won’t start?”

  
  


She wasn’t going to answer him. She took a breath and started walking, fast even strides that were filled with purpose.

  
  


“Ya need a ride darlin’?”

  
  


Indie’s strides stopped, the bar door was just in reach, she could slip inside and forget he existed while she waited for a tow truck, instead, she flicked her hair over her shoulder and glanced at him. “I suppose you’re just waiting out here like a knight in shining armor to women in need?”

  
  


There was something devilish in his smile as he sauntered over, his booted feet crunching the gravel as he flicked his cigarette away.

  
  


“Did you do something to my truck?” she demanded.

  
  


He waited until he was practically toe to toe with her before answering, his tone amused, “an’ why would I do that?”

  
  


“You tell me!”

  
  


“Its an old truck, a goddamn accident waiting to happen.”

  
  


She looked him up and down, his stance was relaxed and she let the pepper spray slip back to the bottom of her bag before she ran her fingers all the way through her hair. “I don’t need a ride Mr Track so you might as well leave.”

  
  


Indie put the key in the door and tugged the handle at the same time cocky biker leaned his hand against it, resting all his weight as a way to stop the door from budging. “It’s just Track no Mister.”

  
  


“Look Track, I’m  _ flattered  _ that you decided to turn your overactive ego to me but I’m not interested.”

  
  


“See that's where ya wrong darlin’. The way your eyes dilate when you look at me, the way your chest is heaving, the way you keep touching’ that soft hair of yers tells me a very different story.”

  
  


“I don’t care what story you're reading,” Indie yanked at the door and he stumbled with a snort of laughter.

  
  


“Alright Paperback Writer,” from his finger he dangled what she was sure the part needed for her engine to come back to life, “have it yer way darlin’.”

  
  


She snatched the part from his hand, filling her voice with as much venom as she could, “I will!”

  
  


He didn’t even seem ashamed at himself for stealing the part from her car. He just stood there with his thumb looped through his jeans and a grin that lived only in the way he was looking at her. Good sense told her to turn around and leave him out in the cold but she rolled to car part in her hand, let the bar door slip through her fingers and said, “well are you gonna fix it back on my car or leave me stranded?”

  
  


“Whatever you want Ma’am, I’m happy to assist in  _ all  _ ways.”

  
  


Indie passed the part back to him and did the unthinkable again. She followed him to her truck when she should have waited in the bar. The only excuse she could reason with her own good sense was that if it happened again then she’d know how to fix it. She didn’t like any of the other reasons that crept into her head as she watched him leaning down into her engine, his hands greased with oil as he put the part back with expertise.  

  
  


“All done.” He slammed the hood shut, wiping the oil from his fingers with a rag he pulled from his pocket like it was just waiting for the occasion.

  
  


She gave him a look she hoped was disapproval, touching the end of her hair before remembering what he’d said about that. 

  
  


“Ain’t ya gonna say thanks?”

  
  


“Thank you for breaking my car then fixing it?”

  
  


“Ya could buy me a drink in appreciation if you’d rather.”

  
  


She scoffed, he was unbelieveable, “I don’t appreciate it.”

  
  


“I could go for a shot,” he didn’t wait for her answer, he walked around the building and headed straight in while Indie kicked herself for forgetting to lock the door.

  
  


When she chased him she saw him hop over the bar, help himself to the bottle and pour them both a measure like he belonged here. “That's not on the house Mr Track.”

  
  


He sniggered, “how much do I owe ya?”

  
  


“Fifty dollars.”

  
  


“For two damn drinks?”

  
  


Indie folded her arms over her chest, standing straight and praying she looked authoritative, “the bars closed. So you’re helping yourself to special service.”

  
  


“Oh yeah,” he climbed back over the bar with a look that made her knees weak, “what else is included in this special service?”

  
  


“I could slap you again if you like.”

  
  


He chuckled, rubbing his cheek, “once was enough.” Then he left the drinks on the bar as he walked over to the jukebox, switching it back on before flicking through the selections until AC/DC Hell’s Bells began to fill room with life while her heart thudded a nervous tune.

  
  


He slowly turned to her, walking in time with the beat, the look in his eyes so mesmerizing that when his hands gripped her waist, drawing her to him she welcomed it. She could hardly breath or think a single thing as he purred, “why don’t I give you something’ to write ‘bout.” His lips were rough, his grip possessive as his tongue sank into her mouth to give her just a taste of what he meant. 

  
  


Indie moaned into his kiss, she didn’t do one night stands and she definitely didn’t do bad boys on motorcycles but she wasn’t saying no either. His hands slid from her waist, over the curve of her ass and to the backs of her thighs where he picked her up like she was weightless. He carried her to the pool table, perching her on the edge as his kisses began to nip at her neck while he eased open the delicate buttons of her dress until his thumb was caressing the braless flesh of her breasts, stroking her nipples and finding them hard. 

  
  


He growled in appreciation, his hooded gaze trailing along her bare skin before his lips sank against her, hot and wet, lavishing each breast with attention, soft licks that had her panting with need followed by hard sucks that made her body tingle with so much sensation that she begged him to stop.

  
  


His breathing was deep with lust when he asked, “what did ya say yer name was paperback writer?”

  
  


“I didn’t,” oh god, she was ready to have sex with a man that didn’t even know her name, “it's Indie.”

  
  


“Indie,” he repeated with a quirk of his lips, his smokey southern tongue making her name seem like a naughty word.

  
  


“What's yours Track? What's your real name?”

  
  


He slipped his cut from his shoulders, hanging it on the back of a nearby chair as he told her, “just Track.” Then he walked to the bar, picked up his drink and took a seat on a stool, “dance for me,” he gestured with the glass, swirling the amber liquid while his eyes drank their fill of her.

  
  


Indie held her arms over her breasts and hardly dared to move. Sex with a stranger seemed easier than dancing in front of one, standing half bare and moving alone was somehow more revealing.

  
  


“Come on now girl,” he encouraged, relaxing his back against the bar as he settled in for the show.

  
  


She slipped from the pool table, her arms still wrapped around her modesty, her breaths unsteady pants as a hundred thoughts whizzed around her mind. Tonight she wasn’t the girl sitting behind the laptop creating the fantasy meeting of two strangers, she was the woman living it and it enticed her. She wanted to be that girl for one night, she’d been Indie her whole life.  

  
  


“Don’t cover up, I wanna see ya.”

  
  


This was her chance. She unwrapped her arms, her fingertips lightly grazing her skin as he watched with fixation, sipping his drink but never losing interest in every move she made. Indie closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of the music consume her, dancing like there was no one watching as one song rolled into the next and a wild unbottled feeling swam around her body, freedom. 

  
  


When Indie opened her eyes he was standing, settling his empty on the bar and picking up the drink he’d poured for her. He took a sip of it before he began to circle, his rough fingers sweeping a spine tingling touch in unexpected places before he pressed himself along her back, engulfing her in the scent of leather, motor oil and something that made her mouth water. His hand splayed on her stomach drawing her close, encouraging her to grind against him while his fingers inched their way under her dress and into her panties like it was all his.

  
  


Indie sank into him, losing herself as their bodies moved in time with the music, the beat from his finger playing a tune of it's own as it glided along her wetness and made her tremble. When he held the glass of liquor to her lips he commanded her to “drink,” and it slid down her throat like fire, adding strength to the pool of heat that was already building as she felt her orgasm tingling it's unstoppable approach, her senses overwhelmed with desire after so long spent untouched. Her hips bucked towards his hand, craving more pressure as he rubbed just the right beat over and over again, his thumb teasing her as his fingers slipped and curled inside. Her legs began to shake and he didn’t let her fall as pleasure engulfed her in long waves with his name moaning from her lips just like he had said it would. 

  
  


When the aftershocks subsided and Indie could stand on her own feet he scraped the straps of her dress from her shoulders, letting the cotton pool at her feet until she was wearing nothing but her panties and sandals. His hands explored her skin, rough fingers that stroked gentle touches as he guided her to a barstool before helping her up. 

  
  


The haze of pleasure was enough to make Indie forget about any regrets she might have had at what she was doing in this place with the security cameras recording every moment. All she could think about was the way his body looked when he pulled his shirt over his head to reveal the tattoo’s that were scattered all over his body. 

  
  


He edged close enough to kiss her and Indie ran her fingers over his skin, smoothing through the hairs on his chest before trailing along his abdomen until her hand was pressed against the bulge in his jeans. He groaned, deepening their kiss as she began to open the belt, pop the button and pull down the zipper, freeing him as his jeans fell to his ankles. He was thick, his cock already pulsing as she pumped her hand along it while his kisses groaned into her neck, biting down when the pleasure became intense. 

  
  


Indie could feel the warmth of arousal begin to pool between her legs, her greedy body craving more and needing to feel him inside her and he read her every whim like a book. His fingers hooked into her panties, pulling them over her legs and throwing them over his shoulder with a look of pure desire. The kind of look that had her even more desperate to know how it would feel to be fucked by him.

  
  


He slid a condom along his length before his fingers dug into her hips, tilting her body until he was positioned himself at her entrance. She held her breath as she he rubbed the tip of his penis along her slit, coating himself in her wetness before he began to sink himself inside in one slow thrust. It had been a long time since she’d been intimate with a man and the fullness touched all the right places. She wrapped her legs around him, her head falling back as every thrust rocked her closer to the edge of oblivion.

  
  


When she demanded more, “harder,” he stopped, kissing her enough to make her breathless before he pulled her off the stool and bent her over the pool table. The felt was soft against her face as he slammed into her, holding her hips to keep her steady as every thrust made her weak. He fucked her like he could go all night and every time her climax began to teeter along the edge he slowed down, letting it fade before he started back again. 

  
  


“I wanna see ya come,” he ordered, his voice almost enough to tip her over the edge as he  span her around and threw her onto the table like she was a ragdoll. She gasped, loving every second of the way he was manhandling her, grabbing her legs to pull her close and burying his cock inside her again. His thrusts were hungry now. His own groans becoming more ragged as he drove into her over and over, building her back up and sending her soaring into nothing but pleasure. His own finish was a roar above the jukebox, his body slowing and slumping over hers as she melted into the table.

  
  


Indie had never had such a powerful orgasm in her entire life, Now she understood what people meant when they said ‘mindblowing’. Her toes curled as she pushed her hips towards him trying to squeeze the last drops of pleasure that were still tingling. He’d been right, that she’d be moaning for him but she couldn’t find it in herself to be ashamed. This might not have been the stuff of fairy tales but when a man could make you feel how he’d made her feel then she didn’t exactly need a fairytale. 

  
  


She stretched her arms above her head, sighing with content as she contemplated whether they should ride his chopper back to her apartment. She’d never been on the back of a bike before and the idea made her giggle like she was a teenager again. She was just about to nuzzle her face against the scent of his skin when he stood up and began buckling up his jeans.

  
  


“That was nice darlin’,” he chuckled as he pulled on his shirt.

  
  


Indie covered her breasts with her fore arm, the haze of pleasure fading as realisation hit her like a slap around the face, “you’re leaving?”

  
  


“Sorry to disappoint but that's all yer gettin’, I don’t stay the night an’ I don’t come back for seconds.” He pulled on his cut in a well practiced motion that had him walking to the door before she’d scrambled off the table.

  
  


She felt her cheeks heating, this might not have been a great love story but she thought it might have been more than this, “you used me!”

  
  


“Seemed to me you enjoyed it baby,” he said as the bar door slammed shut.

  
  


Indie didn’t know she was capable of the kind of rage that swelled in her belly but then she hadn’t known she was capable of the kind of pleasure he had sent shooting across her body. She threw her dress over her head and without bothering to button it she was grabbing her Daddy’s shotgun from under the bar and loading two rounds in the chamber as she stepped outside.

  
  


Cocky biker was smoking a cigarette and pulling on his helmet. When he saw her he laughed, throwing his cigarette down without bothering to stub it out. “Ya ain’t got it in ya Paperback Writer.”

  
  


He was right maybe she didn’t have it in her to shoot him but something was going to take a bullet. She aimed, pulled the trigger and watched the back wheel of his chopper tear apart with a satisfying pop.

  
  


“What the fuck?” he shouted, ducking away from any shrapnel, the look on his face one of pure shock.

  
  


Stranding him at her bar might not have been the smartest move and she realised the stupidity of it when his shock changed to something else and he grabbed the barrel of the gun, pulling it out of her hand before shoving her against the wall of the bar like he was going to kill her. 

  
  


“Are ya outta ya goddamned mind woman?” he put his hand around her throat to hold her into place. 

  
  


Indie’s rage had deflated like his shredded tyre and she hardly knew what to say, except “actually, yeah, right now I am.”

  
  


His eyes softened at her admission and he laughed, loosening his grip of her neck, his hand finding its way to her waist with tenderness. “well, looks like I’m stayin’ the night now, don’t it Paperback Writer?”

  
  



	19. Creep- Daryl&OC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daryl's bike breaks down by the side of the road. (AU)

Daryl’s bike shuddered, the engine spluttering its last breaths like a dying man before he slammed his boots on the tarmac and heaved off the seat. With a groan he pushed his Yamaha to the side of the road, avoiding any potential incoming traffic although at this time of night in rural Georgia a passing car was unlikely. Very fucking unlikely, Daryl snorted pulling off his helmet and throwing it on the grass. **  
**

He closed his eyes, savouring the coolness of the night before batting away the tendrils of hair that always seemed to find a home over his eyes when he was riding. When he pulled his phone from his pocket it was just as he suspected, no signal. Perfect.

He cast a long hopeful look around the surrounding fields for any signs of hazy light that would indicate a house, or even better a town, in walking distance. There was nothing.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been stranded in the middle of nowhere like this. Since he’d moved to LA he hardly ever made it back home to Georgia. Why would he? There was nothing here except the shithole house he’d grown up in and his ex con big brother. But his manager had decided to book a gig near the one horse town that birthed all of Creep’s band members and he’d had no choice but to accept it.

For old time’s sake he’d decided to take his bike for a run around the county and even though Daryl might have hated this backwater shithole, the roads that surrounded it had always been his favourite place to ride. He was regretting that now. He was exhausted from playing the set this evening. He should have gone back to a bar and found some willing girl to fuck like the rest of his bandmates. Instead, he was probably going to have to spend the next hour power walking to find a phone.

Before he made the decision to leave his bike behind he gave it a once over to see if the problem could be fixed but just as he had suspected it was going to need a new part. He threw off his heavy biker jacket and lit a cigarette when the almost inaudible hum of an engine caught his attention. He craned his neck, holding his breath to listen carefully as the hum drew closer and closer.

Thank fuck. There really was a fucking god. He dropped his cigarette, snuffing the embers out and smoothing his hair as two headlights rounded the bend, creeping along the tarmac to light him up like road kill.  He waved his arms and prayed the person would stop on account of Southern hospitality or some such shit. He was in luck.

The beat up beige Toyota Corolla stopped about fifteen feet from where he was standing. There was a minute of listening to the engine quietly humming before the noise cut out, sinking him back into the blackness of the road.  Only the sound of crickets doing their nightly ritual penetrated what felt like eerie silence after a night of ear splitting music.

A chill ran down his spine and for a heartbeat he imagined headlights whizzing back on, two bright high beams blinding him right before the car charged like a bull. But there was no light just the sound of the car door clicking open.

Daryl exhaled the breath that had built up at the back of his throat, his body relaxing as he waited for the driver to emerge.

“Thanks for stopping… my bikes broken down…” he shouted, trying to feel less like a piece of roadkill when he saw dark hair and a wary smile. A woman in all black leaned on the Toyota’s dented door like she might jump back in and run at any moment.

“I don’t have any signal on my phone…” he added.

She pulled a phone out of her own pocket and he saw the little screen lighting up while she checked hers to corroborate his story. He felt guilty for imposing on her. Even though his band had experienced their 15 minutes of fame, it had been over ten years ago and he wouldn’t expect the average woman to recognise the drummer from some mediocre band.

“My names Daryl…” he tried to sound as friendly as possible and he was thankful that at least since they were in Georgia his thick accent didn’t stand out half as much as it did in LA.

“You want a ride?” her voice was soft, the smallest hint of a southern drawl picked up from living in Georgia rather than growing up here.

“If that wouldn’t be too much trouble Ma’am…”

The woman stepped forward, so close that he could see the dark green of her eyes “I’m Jane,” she looked to his bike then back at him. “Let’s go then.”

Daryl collected his helmet and his coat, opened the passenger door and threw his belongings onto the backseat.

“Mind the cookies,” she said with a small smile and he noticed the two big candy cane striped boxes stacked next to where his coat had landed.

“Ya got one hell of a sweet tooth,” he grinned, his eyes falling to her waist as she settled into the driver’s seat. She wasn’t super skinny with the endless legs of the the kind of women he liked to take home but the softness of her hips and the fullness of her breast held a different invitation.

“They’re leftovers from work… you want one?” before Daryl could answer Jane reached back, pulled one of the boxes onto her lap and thumbed open the paper lid.

She might not have had a sweet tooth but he certainly did. The sickly scent of the cookies wafted like catnip from the open box filling up the car with mouthwatering promise that tickled at his taste buds in anticipation.

“I can’t eat them all…” she held out the box with a small smile.

He peered at the neat row of cookies, all lined up like little chocolate chip soldiers and without much considerations he took a double chocolate. The feel of the cookie between his fingers was just right as he scooped it up, soft but not crumbly and it started to bend in the middle like the way a good cookie should as its gooeyness gives in to gravity. “Thanks ma’am.”

She closed the cookie box and returned it to its place before fastening her seatbelt, “where do you want dropping off?”

“Nearest gas station would be great.”

The Toyota’s engine rumbled, “so what you doing out here so late?” she said.

Daryl’s eyes glanced to the little orange LED clock of her console, 02:34. “I just wanted to go for a ride… haven’t been back in Georgia in a long time,” he savoured the cookie, holding it in his mouth to melt the chocolate and let it turn to mush before he swallowed it down.

Truthfully, he preferred the night. He enjoyed the quiet, the stillness and the hairpricking fear of the unknown. He looked at Jane, soft and warm, a woman alone in the lurking darkness, “what ‘bout you?”

“Work,” she said flatly.

Daryl swallowed down another bit of cookie, his gaze travelling along her body once more. She had a tattooed line of music notes that stretched across her wrist, peaking out from her sleeves whenever her hand glided across the wheel.

“What brings you back to Georgia?” she said and he wondered if she’d noticed him staring.

“I’ve been playing a gig… I play the drums in a band,” Daryl hated saying this to chicks. ‘I’m in a band,’ sounded exactly like what some fake asshole would say.

Jane had a small smirk on her lips and he reckoned that was exactly what she thought of him. But then he was kind of a fake, he wasn’t great at playing the drums. Sure he’d got better over the years but he’d just been lucky since he’d been the only person in town available to complete Jim’s band when they formed 20 years ago. Jim and Rooster were the real talents, both played guitar, both could sing and both wrote the songs. He was just the freeloader that tagged along for the easy pussy and all he had to do was bash shit. At least that’s what they told him every time they were being dicks, which was often.

“Have I heard of them?” she asked as her green eyes met his blue ones.

“I dunno… you don’t look like the type of chick that’s into our kinda stuff…”

“Try me,” she cocked one eyebrow and there was a glint of mischief in her cat like eyes.

Suddenly Daryl realised that the radio hadn’t been playing while they trudged along in the car. He always hated to be in the car without music. He eyed up her CD player, a clumsy addition to the old car, then wiped his hand on his jeans to make sure all the stickiness from his cookie was gone before he ejected the CD to see what kind of music she listened to. He expected some top twenty mainstream shit but it wasn’t that. It wasn’t that at all.

Daryl felt a slight chill run like a ski jumper down his spine until he laughed it off. The CD in her player wasn’t what he had expected because it was one of his, one of Creeps earlier albums and it was his favourite, the only one that contained a song that he’d penned. Usually Jim and Rooster rejected all his offerings but when he’d poured his soul into a song about losing his mother they’d said ‘yes’.

He looked at Jane and she smiled, her green eyes looked like they were almost glowing as she asked, “you like that band?”

Was she fucking with him? “Ya know who I am?”

Jane took the CD from between his fingers before slowly pushing it into the slot. The music started low and quiet. “Do you really think a woman would pick up a complete stranger by the side of the road?”

“I dunno…” what did he know about what women did besides fucking them? Daryl looked out of the window at the dark expanse of trees. This chick had a fucked up sense of humour.

The car eased off the main road, onto a dirt track. Daryl peeled leaden limbs from the comfort of the seat, “I think the gas station’s that way Ma’am.”

“Is it?” She whispered. “I thought I’d take you to the one near my house.”

The road didn’t look like it would lead to anything but wilderness, he stifled his yawn, “ya can drop me ‘ere if ya wanna.”

“I don’t think you’d get very far.”

He rubbed his eyes, sinking back against the seat. Jesus, the motion of the car was relaxing. His breathing deepened, his muscles felt so relaxed, like a long dip in a warm bath.

He didn’t know how long he sat like that, he didn’t know if he was asleep or awake until icy fingers raked through his hair, tugging the ends until he was facing dark eyes, the hum of the engine gone and the car shrouded in shadow.

“Jane,” the word breathed out, a muffled whisper as he forced his eyes as wide as he could make them.

Her lips pulled into a smile, teeth glistening white, her voice excited, “I just knew you’d like my cookies Daryl.”


	20. Getaway- Dwight/Sherry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwight convinces Sherry to runaway with him.
> 
> Written to the tune of End Credits by Eden for a Tumblr Writing Challenge.
> 
> Warnings: This does not follow TV or Comic Canon. Its something I stared writing before Season 7 aired and hearing this song made me go back to it. <3

The empty stairwell was their secret place. Even if Sherry had chosen Negan, she couldn’t quite let Dwight go. It was wrong to meet him, every time she did she questioned her decision and leaving him behind only became more difficult with each secret encounter. She’d been married to Negan for several months now and living as one of the workers was still etched enough in her mind that she had no regrets. She’d given up her first husband for a comfortable life and even if she didn’t love Negan, she didn’t hate him. He could give her what Dwight couldn’t but he couldn’t give her everything so here she was. Waiting in the stairway with a pack of smokes and a racing heart.

When Dwight arrived he stayed at the bottom of the stairs and she stayed at the top, both of them ready to keep on walking like this was just a chance encounter. It hurt, the way he was looking at her and the seedy meeting, hiding in the shadows like they were criminals. Dwight didn’t take a cigarette when she offered or bother with a single word of small talk before insisting. “Let’s escape, let’s get away from here.”

Sherry took a long drag of her cigarette, her hand shaking at even the thought of leaving the Sanctuary, “you know I can’t.”

“This isn’t living, watching you with him,” he pounded his fist against the wall, the force of it so hard she was sure it would leave a bruise, “all I do is think about you!”

Sherry dropped her cigarette, watching the embers fight for life against the cold stone floor before snuffing them out with the tip of a designer shoe. “You’re stronger than you think. We can get through this, we wait until it’s safer, or…”

Dwight snorted, he didn’t wanna hear excuses or be told how everything would work out. She looked at him, he was still so handsome just like he’d always been. When she’d met him they’d been kids barely old enough to get their driver’s license and even then Sherry had felt like she’d known him her whole life. He was frowning now, shaking his head at her words and she couldn’t blame him. If it was him, if he was with another woman then she didn’t know what she would do. But Dwight was always better than her, always more generous, more loving. He was a good man.

“We can make it on our own,” he said, stepping up the stairway towards her.

Sherry closed her eyes, it was a pretty idea. The kind of idea that was best kept in fantasy. Even if they could make it alone they weren’t alone, they couldn’t be. “What about Tina?”

“I’d never leave her behind, you know that. I can steal all the insulin we need. Fuck, I found most of it. We can find more together.”

“It’s too crazy…” she shook her head, glancing over her shoulder, “I have to get back.”

“Meet me here,” his hand wrapped around her wrist, “midnight.”

“I can’t Dwight, _please_.”

“I love you Sherry, but I’m leaving this place.” He began to pace down the tiny corridor like a caged lion, “I can’t stay here and watch another man with my wife, know that another man is touching you! Loving you. I can’t do it Sherry. Not without getting myself or somebody else killed.”

“I…” she bit back the words. She wanted the safety and protection of Negan but selfishly she still wanted Dwight. “I love you too,” she blurted and the confession felt good even if it was cruel to tell him the truth.

“Then do this…” he took her hands in his. “Let’s do this, baby. Let’s getaway from here, from the rules, from everything. We can start a new life together. You, me, Tina. Maybe even find a new community.”

“Dwight, it’s too dangerous. I just-”

“Tonight Sherry. I’ll be waiting for you and then I’ll be gone.”

“Tonight?” she whispered.

Dwight kissed her, the taste of his lips so painfully familiar, so comforting. “Midnight.”

Sherry touched her fingers to her lips and knew that no matter how good things were with Negan and how easy he made her life, he would never be the man she’d first fallen in love with. For so long Dwight had been her entire world. Fear had made her turn her back on that but fear of losing him was making her want to take a chance, even if it was a crazy one.

“Meet me here,” he said and with one last look over his shoulder he disappeared to make whatever plans he needed to make this work.

It was after midnight when Sherry arrived at the meeting place, she was taking a gamble with fate. If he’d waited for her then this was happening. If he was gone then he was gone. When she rounded the corner to the stairwell, she shone her flashlight down the stairs and there he was, sitting on the bottom step with Tina and a couple of bags.

“Let’s go,” he said and they crept through the shadows, climbed the fence and ran into the night like they’d just tee-peed their principles house which, in a past life, they did.


	21. Confession (Negan/You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me Father for I have sinned.
> 
> Written for a Tumblr Challenge. (Negan/Reader, Priest Kink, Smut)

You were waiting in the pew for confession and at your age maybe you should have known better than to develop a schoolgirl crush on the new Priest but age was just a number and girlish fantasies had followed you well into adulthood.

You watched the high school principal slipping from the confessional booth, rosaries clutched in her hand, her face streaked with tears and instead of feeling concern you felt elated. You’d been sweltering in the church for what felt like forever, the time spent waiting had almost convinced you to leave but now you were glad you hadn’t as anticipation coursed through your veins, your heartbeat drumming to an insatiable rhythm.

The light flicked on above confessional, marking the start of your turn. You’d made sure to be the last parishioner and by now it was getting late, leaving nobody in the church but you and Father Negan. You weren’t sure if you were going to confess everything, you didn’t even know if you would confess anything more than skipping your weight watchers meeting and indulging in a sinful doughnut or two but it was now or never.

You opened the door and took a seat, the red velvet chair prickling against the backs of your thighs and your heart thudding even harder. You couldn’t see him through the wooden partition that separated sinner from saint but you could almost feel him, the even sound of his breathing, the smell his skin had musked in the heat of his robes.

You motioned the sign of the cross, “in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Forgive me Father for I have sinned, it has been three months since my last confession.” It was no incidence that it was also three months since Father Negan had arrived.

“Tell me your sins, my child,” he drawled, his voice thick and deep. It was the kind of voice that belonged in smoke filled bars, with his lips pressed against your ear as he whispers sins like heavenly promises.

You swallow hard, your fingers digging crescent moons into your palms as you start out small, “I told a lie to a friend and I have taken the Lord’s name in vein, more than once.”

“What lie did you tell?”

This isn’t the kind of information you would normally share with a man that makes you feel how Father Negan makes you feel but this is confession and the truth slides easily from your tongue, “I promised I’d meet my friend for weight watchers but I called to tell her I was sick and went for donuts instead.”

You’re not sure but you think you hear him stifle a laugh before he asks, “is that all…”

“No.” A bead of sweat rolls down your neck, you can almost feel the flames of hell licking against the walls as your chest heaves tight against the buttons of your summer dress and you say, “I have impure thoughts. And… I do impure things.”

There’s a pause before says, “tell me about these thoughts.”

“I’m not sure I can say, Father.” You squeeze your thighs together, your mind racing with every improper idea that has ever crossed your mind.

“You must,” his commands, the tone in his voice catching your attention before it softens back to that of a holy priest, “your confession is safe with me.”

Maybe you will go to hell and maybe you don’t care. “I think about… you, Father Negan.”

An even longer silence stretches out in the dark heat of the confessional, “and what do you think about?”

Does his voice sound different or is it just your imagination? Either way you confess and you find more thrill in it than you had anticipated, “I think about you kissing me, touching me… being inside me.”

“More,” he breathes, the word barely audible over your pounding heart.

“More, Father?”

“You said you do impure things, tell me about them, confess everything to me if you want to find absolution,” his voice is definitely different now, more urgent, the voice of a man who knows exactly what kind of thoughts you might have been having.

You suck in a sharp breath, caressing your hand down the front of your dress, your thumb brushing over your nipple encouraging the flood of warmth to heat between your legs.

“Tell me,” he whispers.

You lick your lips, sinking deeper into the chair, your thumb curling around your nipple, “I go to bed, turn out all the lights and I think about you. I think about sliding your robes from your body and the way you must look, I imagine dark hair on your chest and my fingers running through it. You’re long and thick and I sink to me knees, tasting you before you guide me onto the bed,” your hand creeps between your legs, your nails scratching your inner thigh before pushing up your dress, your palm pressing over your mound, “when I think these things, I touch myself and pretend it’s you.”

When he lays you on the bed you imagine him peeling off all your clothes, admiring the curves of your body, blessing them, worshipping them and making you feel like a goddess. In your fantasy, you don’t worry about your imperfections because they don’t exist in his eyes. He devours the fullness of your breasts, finds comfort in the softness of your hips and kisses the lines that tiger mark your skin.

You can hear his weight shifting in his seat just as you can hear the strangled desire in his words as he pants, “what next?”

Your fingers inch into your panties, gliding between your wet folds and pressing for relief against your clit, you don’t hide your moans of pleasure as you tell him, “I imagine you spreading my legs, the head of your cock stroking over me before you sink inside.”

Father Negan groans and you wonder if he’s stroking his cock just like you’re stroking your pussy, “fuck me, Father, I say and you drive your cock into me over and over, grinding against me bringing me closer and closer to the edge.” You thrust your fingers inside your pussy, your thumb rubbing your clit, you’re dangerously close, unsure what realm of hell this will take you to.

Your hand presses against the screen that keeps you from Father Negan and you feel his palm press against yours, his hand as hot as yours, his own breathing heavy. “You wait for me to come then you fill me, your hips jerking as you moan my name.”

“Fuck,” he moans and your orgasm begins to flutter, arousal soaking your hand as your pussy tightens around your fingers in long waves until you are spent.

Your hand slips from where it is pressed against Father Negan’s and you can barely breath in the heat of the booth as his hazy voice tells you your penance without even bothering to ask for your absolution, “5 hail Mary’s and three Our Father’s.”

You stand on shaky legs, if prayer will absolve you of your sins then you may become a sinner every week. “Yes, Father,” you say as you step from the confessional, the smell of sex on your fingers and a smile on your lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to follow me on Tumblr @superprincesspea


	22. Basketball Negan/You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: Negan + Athletic (SFW)

When Negan brought a basketball hoop to the Sanctuary you didn’t think you’d get much use out of it. As it turned out you had a lot of use for that hoop, in fact you spent most of your free time sitting by it and enjoying the view. Of course, it didn’t hurt that the view was Negan versus Simon and it also didn’t hurt that they’d taken off their shirts in the heat of the midday sun.

Part of you wanted to warn them to put on sunscreen, the other part just wanted to watch the way the sweat glistened as they fought for the ball. You never knew you could be so interested in sports and when they offered you a chance to join them you didn’t hesitate in saying “yes!” 

The fourth player was Arat and you played girls versus boys but you might as well have been playing Arat versus boys since you were next to useless. You couldn’t keep the ball and you couldn’t shoot a hoop to save your life but when Negan’s body was pressed against yours none of that really mattered. All you could think about was the he smelled, leather and musk, deliciously manly. 

When the game was over and he was wiping the sweat off his chest with his white tshirt all you could think about was how his skin would taste if you pressed your lips against his tattoo’s and how soft his chest hair would feel under your fingers.

Negan caught the way you were looking at him, no, staring at him and with a wicked smile he asked, “you thirsty, doll?”

You swallowed the dry feeling that had filled your mouth, “I’m practically dehydrated.”

“Is that a fact?” he crooned, throwing his tee over his shoulder and bending down to pick up a bottle of water that had been idling on the ground for just the right occasion. 

Negan’s grin was even more devilish when his eyes locked with yours, the bottle outstretched before he snatched it back. “Come and get it,” he challenged and before you could even think to answer he was walking away, the bottle of water bouncing off his hip with every step.

You were thirsty so you followed him and it wasn’t just the water that you wanted in your mouth.


	23. Her (Dwight/OFC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by anonymous (tumblr)
> 
> Any Walking Dead character? I’ve never seen you write him before, but can you do Dwight and Ugly Duckling?
> 
> (Fluff, SFW)

If Dwight had stepped through the door half a second later he wouldn’t have had it slammed in his nose but as it went he ended up falling to the floor, his eyes pricking with the kind of tears no self respecting man would let fall. He was a heartbeat away from dressing the person down when he noticed it was  _ her _ . 

He’d seen her around, she was pretty in an understated sort of way and he liked that. He didn’t even know her name even though she’d been at the Sanctuary for months and asking her would probably make him look like an asshole. 

“I’m so sorry, I, I…” she stuttered, barely looking him in the eye.

“It’s okay,” Dwight said quickly, annoyed at the way she wasn’t looking at him and convinced that she couldn’t stand the sight of his mangled face. But then she did catch his eye, her cheeks turning pink her gaze falling to her sneakers and he realised she wasn’t disgusted. She was nervous, shy. It made him smile, he couldn’t remember the last time a woman had looked at him like that.

“I don’t think I have to worry about messing up my face,” he joked, pulling himself from the floor and hoping there wasn’t a giant egg where the door had smacked his head.

“You shouldn’t say that,” she said and before he really had the chance to respond she was walking away leaving him feeling things he hadn’t felt in a long time. Hopeful, nervous, excited.

Dwight kicked himself for not knowing her name but he didn’t have the time to find out now, he was due on guard duty and Arat got pissed when he was late. 


	24. Homecoming (Simon/You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested on Tumblr  
> Military with Simon  
> Fluff SFW

When you saw Simon for the first time in months your heart leapt, longing and pride all rolled into one at the sight of him in his full dress uniform. Usually you would have run into his arms, wrapping your legs around him and squeezing him so tight he could barely breath but this time was different, this time your arms were already full. So, with the baby soft weight of your newborn you waited for you husband to meet his son for the first time.

Simon dropped the bag he was carrying to his feet, his smile soft and all for the baby as he peered at the squashy bundle with curious eyes. He laughed softly, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing and you knew the feeling. You’d felt it the moment you’d laid eyes on your baby, he was the perfect mix of you and his Daddy

“I’m sorry I missed it,” he whispered.

“He was impatient,” you replied. You couldn’t blame Simon for not being there to hold your hand, you knew what it meant to be married to a soldier and you knew how much he’d wanted to be with you when it happened.

He kissed your cheek, his lips pressed against you like he was savouring the feel and smell of your skin. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he whispered but he was wrong. You’d missed him like nothing else, like a part of you had been gone and was now returned.

The baby grizzled and you both laughed.

“Already, he wants all your attention,” you teased and Simon held out his arms, almost unsure as you placed the baby into them. It suited him, a baby that was smaller than his bicep and a smile that was wider than the moon.

You took a picture, capturing a moment you knew you’d cherish forever and then it was time to go home. You wanted to have Simon all to yourself, just the three of you until you had to return to this place and say goodbye again.


	25. Store Cupboard (Simon/You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested on Tumblr: Lol so like I would really love playboy of either Negan or Simon (NSFW)

The head chef asked you to grab more flour from the store cupboard, it was the type of errand you did all the time but when you flung open the door you instantly realised that today was unlike any other day. 

You hardly knew where to look and for a second you froze with only your eyes moving as they darted from the intense expression on Simon’s face to the way his hips thrust. His trousers were snaked around his ankles, leaving the bottom half of his body nude as he fucked what looked like one of the other Savior’s.

Before you could back away like you hadn’t seen a thing Simon’s eyes met yours, his groans of pleasure reaching a peak and his rhythm never faltering as his partner demanded more to the tune of skin slapping against skin. 

Your cheeks heated and as much as you hated to admit it you felt a rush of warmth soaking into your panties. “Sorry,” you mumbled, falling back through the door. You didn’t want to stick around for the climax and you certainly didn’t want to be around for the awkward moment that would surely come after.  

Without looking back you began to hurry to your room before remembering you were suppose to be working. Your face blanched. The idea of walking back to the kitchen and seeing Simon sneaking from the storeroom with his conquest was just as bad as having to explain the reason why you hadn’t picked up the flour. 

You dithered in the hall halfway between home and work for so long that you were almost certain the store room would now be clear and when you rounded the corner to head back to the kitchen, you were right. Simon was gone from the store because he was standing directly in front of you.

Your cheeks were burning, your throat suddenly dry as you looked at anything but him in an attempt to avoid the situation. The way he chuckled made you feel even more embarrassed and it only served as a warning that he didn’t want to avoid this situation in the slightest.  

You tried to step past him but he put his arm out to block your escape. Leaving you standing awkwardly, hoping that if you closed your eyes and really wanted it then you wouldn’t have to be in this moment right now. But it didn’t work. Simon was still there, still watching you and no matter how much you wanted it the ground wouldn’t swallow you up.

“Did you like what you saw?” he said and your gaze couldn’t help but shoot straight to his, your eyes wide with horror, your mouth hanging open in complete shock.

He seemed to be enjoying the fact that he’d been caught and you wondered if he was standing here now because he’d been looking for you so he could say this very thing.

“I didn’t,” you said with as much venom as you could, “I think it’s unhygienic doing…  _ that…  _ on the food.”

Simon stroked his fingers over his mustache in a way that made you think of his fingers stroking other places. “Is that what you thought?” he teased. “From the look on your face, I thought you were enjoying that little sample… I thought maybe you’d be interested in tasting the full package…”

Now you were back to staring at your feet, your mind replaying the way his thighs had looked. His muscles thick, tanned and taut as he… 

You snapped yourself out of it. If Simon thought you’d do anything with him after what you’d just seen him doing with another woman then he must have been out of his mind. “Certainly not!” You said with as much certainty as you could, pushing him out of your way and walking like your weren’t still dying of embarrassment on the inside. 

You could hear him laughing, his cheerful tone mocking you with every step and before you rounded the corner you turned back to him, giving him the finger and hoping he wouldn’t bring this subject up again. 


	26. Short Shorts (Simon/You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon likes Short Shorts. Written for #simonsmutweek on Tumblr. (Simon/You, Smut, NSFW)

“A store cupboard? That’s really original,” you mocked as Simon backed you inside, pushing you against the shelves, his hands wasting no time in popping open the buttons on your shorts.

“Darlin’, how can I resist when you’re walking around in these?” he crooned, his hands rough as they glided over your thighs, squeezing your ass before yanking down your shorts in one hard pull.  

“Every goddamn man in the Sanctuary was probably looking at you and wishing they could be doing this,” he continued, spinning you around so you were holding onto the shelves of food, his hand slipping between your legs. You held your breath as his finger inched between your folds, stroking over your clit before sinking inside your pussy and finding out just how wet you were for him.

“Jesus,” he praised, rubbing his finger back over your clit until you were moaning, your body aching for more.  

You knew these shorts would get Simon’s attention. It’s why you’d picked them up on a supply run and it’s why you’d chosen to wear them this morning. You’d been wet just thinking about his reaction when he saw you and the way his eyes had practically bulged out of his head, his mouth falling open like a thirsty dog was just the reaction you’d been looking for.

“Tell me what you want,” he breathed, his voice hoarse, the sound of his zipper yanking open only making you more aroused

“I want your cock,” you began, you knew how much he loved this, “I want you to fuck me until I’m screaming.”

Simon chuckled, his hand ghosting over your ass before he struck it in one sharp slap, “goddamn right you want my cock.”

With your bare ass no doubt covered in the print of his palm you looked over your shoulder to see him easing his cock from his boxers and pumping his fist over the entire length of it. When he saw you watching he smiled, jerking it harder, precrum leaking from the slit before he rubbed it along his shaft. “Beg me for it,” he panted, losing control with every stroke.

“Please Simon. Please fuck me,” you said, your pussy tightening with need, your body tingling for a touch that only he could give.

“More,” he demanded, pressing himself against you, the head of his cock slowly teasing you open until you could barely think straight.

“Please Simon, please give me your cock,” you groaned, desperate to feel him inside you.

“That’s good,” he praised, squeezing your breasts and finally giving you what you wanted as his cock filled you in one hard thrust and he didn’t wait long until he was slamming into you again, holding your hips in place while he filled you over and over with his thick cock.

You braced yourself against the shelves, riding the unrelenting rhythm and begging for “more.” You didn’t care who might hear, you didn’t care about being caught, all you cared about was chasing your orgasm and you were so close.

“That’s right baby, come for me,” he groaned and the pleasure that had wound so tight began to spring free, your body shaking as it found release all over Simon’s cock. When you were trembling with the aftershocks he pulled out, finishing with a grunt and leaving hot spurts of cum dripping down your inner thigh.

You were certainly glad you’d worn your short shorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Don't forget to leave Kudos if you're enjoying these fics, reading your comments and knowing how much you love them really makes my day! You can find me on Tumblr @superprincesspea and you can find more Simon on Tumblr @simons-thirst-squad :D


	27. Throne- Ezekiel/You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for a tumblr challenge. T for Throne prompt. 
> 
> Ezekiel/Reader, Smut.

From your window you could see Ezekiel pacing with Shiva. Something big had happened in the last couple of days and if you’d really wanted to find out then you probably could have asked but you had no interest in facing the realities of what lived outside the walls. What you did have an interest in was Ezekiel. 

 

Ever since you’d arrived at the Kingdom you’d found yourself drawn to him. Maybe it was the power that attracted you but you preferred to think it was the man. You relished the times when his King’s mask slipped just as much as you enjoyed the spectacle of his theatrics. He made you feel safe when you didn't think you’d feel safe again.

 

It was past midnight now. Only the sentries who hadn’t fallen asleep would witness you leaving your room as you followed your King into the grand hall and bolted the door. 

 

You found him sitting on his wooden throne, Shiva besides him. His head was resting back and although his eyes were closed you could tell he was lost in thought rather than sleeping. 

 

You approached him carefully, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling at the way Shiva was watching your every footstep but you didn’t change your mind. Not even the threat of a tiger could stop you now. When you were standing before them both she shook her head, the chain around her neck jangling loud enough for Ezekiel’s eyes to spring open and when he spotted you he looked surprised, but not unhappy. 

 

“Your grace,” you whispered, inclining your head in a greeting that seemed fit for a king as you watched him gently placing his hand on Shiva’s head, the slight touch placating the beast enough for her to yawn and roll onto her side.

 

“I am very troubled this night,” Ezekiel admitted, his hand slipping from Shiva to rest on his thigh in a movement that held you momentarily captivated. 

 

You sank to your knees, your eyes finding his, “then let me relieve you of some of your troubles, Sire. At least for tonight...”

 

Ezekiel didn’t reply but something in the way he was looking at you urged you to continue and you began to pull your shirt over your head, letting it slip to the floor. For a while you let him simply look at you, his dark eyes raking over naked skin and neither of you moving a muscle until you couldn’t bare the anticipation of more any longer. 

 

You picked up his hand, his palm hot as you placed it over your chest, your heartbeat racing beneath his fingertips.  

 

“Do not feel you must do this,” he said, his voice already hoarse as his thumb caressed impatiently against your skin.

 

You slipped your hands along his thighs, a smile curling at your lips as you found the length of him already full. His erection already straining tight in his trousers. “I desire this as much as you,” you said, stroking him as if to prove your point. 

 

Ezekiel’s breath hitched, his hand ventured along your skin and Shiva hummed a low growl. 

 

“Shiva,” he scolded and like a kitten she mewled, settling her head on her paws but the danger of her presence still pacing the back of your mind as he shifted his hips making it easier for you to unbuckle his belt and pull open his zipper. 

 

Ezekiel's cock was everything you imagined. Long and thick with a crop of dark hair at the base. You touched it gently at first, your hand ghosting along the shaft, his hips slightly bucking to meet your palm. He might have been the King on his throne but in this moment it was you that held all the power. The power to walk away or the power to give him what he was already so desperately craving, what you were both craving.

 

You grabbed him more firmly, pumping his shaft, your hand sliding easily as precum began to spill from the slit while your name spilled huskily from his lips. You couldn't resist tasting him. 

 

You inched forward, sliding deeper between his thighs as his hands gripped the throne like he might splinter the wood. You licked your lips, teasing him before your lips sealed around the end of his cock, your tongue swirling around the head and lapping up the saltiness of his arousal. 

 

When you took him deeper he practically roared. Like a wild animal he lost all remaining control, his hand burying into your hair and his hips jerking towards your mouth. You took as much as you could, bobbing your head and sucking, your eyes never leaving him as you watched your King come undone. His frantic pants racing faster and faster, his cock pulsing.

 

“I’m going to-” is all he managed before his body tensed, his eyes rolled back and his release shot into your mouth. You swallowed it all, licking him clean and cherishing him until his softening cock began to harden again. 

 

His hand cupped your cheek, the desire that still lived in his eyes unmistakable. You smiled, standing to remove the last of your clothes under Ezekiel and Shiva’s watchful gaze. This night had only just begun and you wanted to worship your King for the duration of it. 


	28. Smartass- Merle/You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Tumblr Challenge.
> 
> Merle has an answer for everything. (Merle/You, Fluff, Romance)

The first thing you thought when you saw Merle Dixon was bald head. The second thing you thought, despite the bloody stump, was bald headed asshole.

You’d held out my hands and offered help, most people would thank their lucky stars when a nurse happened to walk by at the right time. In fact, a nurse walking by at the right time in the apocalypse was like a galaxy of lucky stars. Merle had taken one long look along your body and said, “now hold up a minute ‘ere sugar tits, how do I know y’aint tryin’ to take advantage of ol’ Merle?”

Yes, he’d meant advantage of his body and yes, you’d almost left him there to die right there and then but something had stopped you and it certainly wasn’t his sparkling personality. It was yours, you couldn’t do that to another person even if you’d seen the worst of humanity since the dead started walking.

That first meeting with Merle had been months ago, long enough that you’d lost count of the exact amount of time, but not so long that you couldn’t remember how quiet your life had been before the end of the world had decided to lumber you together.

“I reckon it’s quicker this way,” he said, pigheaded and obstinate, his makeshift knife hand pointing in the opposite direction to where you’d just decided to go.

You rolled your eyes, maybe this was it, maybe this was the day you finally parted ways. “Suit yourself,” you said, taking a drink of water and securing your canteen back in your back.

You’d barely taken one step when you heard him following behind.

He was like the stray dog you never wanted but kept on feeding anyway and you found a smile easing across your face where he couldn’t see it.  

You didn’t need each other, you were both survivors and you spent almost every minute of the day bickering over one thing or another but, and you would never admit this to Merle, there were times when you actual enjoyed his company.

“Alright girlie, I’m followin’ ya but if yer wrong then yer settin’ up camp tonight.”

“Hmph,” you snorted, “you love setting up camp and besides,” you glanced back at him, “how will you know if I’m wrong?”

He pointed his knife hand your way, “yer a real smartass you know that?”

“I’m a smartass?” you laughed, walking towards the nearest car to see what you could loot, “says the man who has an answer for everything.”

“I can’t help bein’ a goddamn walkin’ en-cycleo-pedia of shit hot information,” Merle decided as he skewed the walker sitting in the driver’s seat.

“It’s encyclopedia, numb nuts,” you laughed, picking up a box of protein bars from the bag in the footwell and tearing one open with your teeth.

Merle stole a bar from the box, “my nuts definitely ain’t numb darlin’.”

You watched him eating like an animal and silently judging him until you realised you were eating in the same starved way. “You know for a hunter you sure haven’t caught us much food.”

“An’ who’s fault is that, girlie?” he scoffed down the last of his bar, gently nudging his good hand on your chest and blocking you against the car. “Yer the one who refuses to go in the goddamned woods.”

“So, if I’m such a hinderance why do you follow me, Merle Dixon?”

He rested his knife hand on the roof of the car, enclosing you in even more “What do ya want me to say?” he drawled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes looking down at you. “ Ya want me to say I follow ya cause yer the prettiest damn thing this redneck ever did see?”

Your cheeks heated and then he added, “y’aint!”

You shoved him away, humiliated that for a second you thought Merle was giving you something that resembled a compliment and angry at yourself for actually wanting it.

“Pretty don’t even come close to what I think about ya,” he called out as you marched down the road, shoving the last of the protein bars into your bag.

Your feet stumbled to a stop and with your heart thudding you turned to look at him, standing in the middle of the road with his stupid smile.

“What does come close?” you asked, trying your best to hide the waver in your voice.

Merle began walking towards you, “maybe even I don’t have the answer to everythin’.”

“Or you’re just trying to prove me wrong,” you bit back, deciding he was just teasing you again.

“Actually,” his good hand slid around your waist and with a small chuckle he said, “if ya shut yer yap for five damn seconds you’ll see I’m tryin’ kiss ya.”

It might not have been the most romantic proposition you’d ever heard but it got his point across. So, with a moment’s pause between your endless bickering, Merle’s lips pressed to yours and for the length of a perfect kiss,  silence filled the space where all the smartass remarks usually lived.


End file.
